Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: TWSB
by Kryptonian54
Summary: The way it should be. It's JK version of the Deathly Hallows only Harry and Hermione are together and it also has some twists of mine. Read and Review, s'il vous plait. Currently being revised and refashioned.
1. Chapter 1: Godric's Hollow

**NOTICE: Currently being under reconstruction. I'm revising every chapter to proof read and change many things. Here you have the new chapter one, the next twelve chapters will follow soon enough. So far I've done up to chapter 7. **

_I don't mean to start off with this authors not but I would like to talk to that Guest that didn't bother to log in and write those things so that we would know who he/she was. I would like to begin by saying that the Harry Potter series was everything to me as a child. It helped me through many things in life as well and if it weren't for the series, I wouldn't be alive still. I'm not presuming to know more than J.K. Rowling. I've said it millions of times that I believe her to be the best writer I've ever known. I know she has her reasons for putting Ron and Hermione together, I don't resent them. I don't hate J.K. Rowling for putting them together, nor do I think that she is stupid for doing so. When I started writing this story, I was a teenager probably around the age of sixteen. I had read the story and the ending just destroyed a part of me. I had believed it always that what Harry and Hermione had was love. Believing in that was what got me through a lot of bad situations. I could just picture them and how happy they would be and it would bring me hope that maybe one day I would have that. I'd read the books (1-5) and it would bring me hope and happiness. Here I am now, years later looking back at this and I find myself still believing in this love. Call me stupid, call me immature, call me whatever you want to call me but this is what I feel. To me, Harry and Hermione should be together because to me that is what love is. I'm writing this not because I think I can do better then J.K. Rowling, only an idiot would think that. I'm writing this for that little girl that would curl up into a corner with her books after haven been beaten, and immerse herself into other worlds. She deserves to keep believing in hope and love. _

_So you see I don't understand why people like you come to this site. I don't understand why you feel the need to come to a site written by FANS and criticize what they write. I'm pretty sure many authors here don't mean any harm to the plainly obvious brilliance of J.K. Rowling. We don't presume to know better, I hope. We just merely write what we want the story to have. I don't go into other shippings, such as Fred/George or Ron/Harry, and tell them that they are wrong. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it. After all, it is only stories written by fans of the series. We're not here to defend our point of views nor why we think it should be this way. We're here to write what we think the story should have for our own pleasure. We know the stories and how things really happened in them. We're not idiots. This is FAN FIC, so it's our safe haven to write to our hearts content what we desire stories have for our own benefit and nothing more._

_And so, I hope that in writing this, people like would go away. I know that Ron and Hermione ended up together in the real book. I know that that is the way J.K. Rowling intended it to be. But for me, for that little girl inside of me, it can't be left like that. I want her to rad the ending she desires most because she deserves it. I only upload what I write because maybe there are other people out there like me. I want them to know that they are not alone and I hope it comforts them to read this. This is my, and to some extent their, own benefit. If you don't like Harry/Hermione then you shouldn't be here. If you're looking for explanations to buy into this shipping, you won't find that here either. All you'll see is an author rewriting a story to fit their own selfish wants._

_Good day_

_Noodles _

_Owwwwwwwwww_

Ok so this is like my second fanfic. Its obviously the remake of Deathly Hallows. Not much of a remake but it ends with Harry and Hermione. You know the way it should be. It goes along with JK's version up to page 312, U.S. hard cover. It changes at the last paragraph with the words,"their protection." I have always wanted to remake the book so I am. It follows the story line but with a few twists of mine.

**DECLAIMER:** _I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS. They all belong to JK Rowling. This was made for pure entertainment and because of boredom._

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww_

* * *

They did not discuss Ron at all over the next few days. Harry was determined never to mention his name again, and Hermione seemed to know that it was no use forcing the issue, although sometimes at night when she thought he was sleeping, he could hear her crying. But that stopped on the third day, Harry wondered why but didn't ask. They continued on, training as they did. Hermione thought it good, if they prepared themselves for combat. And so, their day consisted of getting up, moving to the next location, reading and practicing spells, practicing accuracy and stamina; then after lunch ,they would exercise. Since they didn't have equipment they used books very much to Hermiones dislike, and then they would continue their search for Horocrux's. Harry liked keeping himself busy, that way he didn't think about Ron, but sometimes while training he would think of Ron. One time while he did so, he cast a spell with all his anger it would knock down a few trees.

"Harry stop taking out your anger on the trees. It's not their fault," Hermione said tiredly.

"Sorry, I can't help it," he snapped.

"Why don't we take a break, it's almost lunch time anyway," she said, heading toward the tent.

"Hermione wait," Harry said, so she turned around.

"What is it?" Harry summoned all of his Gryffindor courage.

"Why didn't you leave?" he asked.

"When?" Hermione said, sounding a bit scared.

"When _he_ did?"

"Did you want me to leave? Do you not want me anymore?" Hermione said, a trace of hurt in her voice.

"NO!" Harry exclaimed quickly. "It's just that I thought you would leave with _him_. I mean you like him and all..."

"Harry if you don't want me just say it, I won't be where I'm not needed," Hermione said firmly. Harry could see a tear forming. He quickly went toward her and embraced her.

"Hermione, don't say that I'll always need you," he said. Hermione pulled away and looked at him confused.

"Then what's the problem?" She asked.

"I thought you liked him as more than friends," he said.

"Oh, er I did I guess. But I won't be with someone who can't stay committed. Besides it would've been too stressing," she said sitting on a rock, Harry followed. "Why do you ask?" She said curiously.

"Sorry for asking. It's just that I've been thinking about how you never left me. Throughout my time with you-you never left me. You were always there ready for anything. And then I realized something I..." Harry stopped and got Hermione's hands. He looked at her truthfully. "I realized that you were the only that would do that for me. The only one who would never leave, the only one whom I could trust with anything. The only one who likes me for me not for the boy who lived," Harry said.

"Of course I do. Your my best friend Harry," Hermione said. Harry felt a pang of disappointment run through his body.

"Come on, it's lunch time. I'll look for berries this time," Harry said. The sting of disappointment he felt bothered Harry. He didn't understand why he should feel it nor what he was hoping would happen.

The weeks went by and sometimes they would take out Phineas Nigellus's portrait form time to time to see what was going on in Hoqwarts, although Phineas wasn't an ideal informer. He venerated Snape, the first Slytherin headmaster since he himself had controlled the school, so they had to be careful not to criticize or ask impertinent questions about Snape or Phineas would leave his portrait instantly. Phineas always tried to find out what Harry Potter was up to, and when he got close Hermione would put him back on the bag.

However, he did let drop certain snippets. Snape seemed to be facing a constant, low level mutiny from a hard core of students. Ginny had been banned from going to Hogsmeade. Snape had reinstated Umbridge's old degree forbidding gatherings of three or more students or any unofficial student societies.

From all of these things, Harry deduced that Ginny, and probably Neville and Luna along with her, had been doing their best to continue Dumbledores Army. Harry missed Hogwarts the soft beds, the grand food, and someone being in charge for once. But he also knew he couldn't go back for he was Undesirable Number One. Harry tried his hardest not to think about Hogwarts, which would end in him missing it more.

The weather grew colder and colder. They did not dare remain in any one area too long, so rather than staying in the south of England, where a hard ground frost was the worst of their worries, they continued on to meander up and down the country, braving a mountainside, where sleet pounded the tent; a wide, flat marsh, where the tent was flooded with chill water; and a tiny island in the middle of Scottish loch, where snow half buried the tent in the night. Harry and Hermione would cuddle together with all the blankets trying to keep warm. Harry found himself enjoying the cuddling more then he expected, so he tried to keep it to a bare minimum. They had to train inside now since it was too cold to go outside.

Christmas came and found Harry and Hermione near Godrics Hollow. Harry really wanted to see his parents and resolved to tell Hermione. That evening Hermione was curled up on Harry reading _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. From time to time Hermione would read Harry some stories of the book. He thought them better than the muggles version. He still couldn't imagine how much more Hermione could get out of that book. _Spellman's Syllabary_ was out so she must have been deciphering something.

"Hermione?" Harry said clearing his throat. Hermione didn't answer she absorbed on her work.

"Harry, could you help me with something." Hermione said minutes later. She showed the book to Harry and pointed to the top of the page. Above what Harry assumed was the title of the story (being unable to read runes, he could not be sure), there was a picture of what looked like a triangle eye, it's pupil crossed with a vertical line. "Look at that symbol."

"Hermione I never took Ancient Runes. How am I supposed to know?" Harry asked brows creasing.

"I know that, but it isn't a rune and it's not in the syllabary, either. All along I thought it was a picture of an eye, but I don't think it is! It's been inked in, look, somebody's drawn it there, it isn't really part of the book. Think, have you ever seen it before?" She asked.

"No I don't...wait a moment." Harry looked closer. "Isn't it the same symbol Luna's dad was wearing round his neck?" Harry asked unsure.

"Well, that's what I thought too!"

"Then it's Grindelwald's mark," she stared at him open mouthed.

"_What?"_

"Krum told me it was the mark Grindelwald used. It is carved all over Drumstrang." he said. Hermione looked astonished.

"_Grindelwald's _mark?" she said. She looked at Harry to the weird symbol and back again. "I've never heard that Grindelwald had a mark. There's no mention of it in anything I've ever read about him." Harry was astonished since Hermione had read a great deal of books. "But that's odd. If it's a symbol of Dark Magic what is it doing in a book for children?" she said confused.

"You're right and you'd think Scrigmeour would have recognized it. He was Minister, he ought to have been an expert on Dark stuff," Harry said scratching his head.

"I know...Perhaps he thought it was an eye, just like I did. All other stories have little pictures over the titles." She didn't speak, but continued pouring over the strange mark.

"You think I'll ever get the rest of the things Dumbledore left me?" Harry asked thoughtfully. Hermione looked at him confused.

"What other things?"

"Well, it's hard to believe he would leave us just these few items. What about his pensieve or his other stuff?" Harry said sadly. Those things would be of a lot of use to them right now.

"You're right. Hmm I don't think you'll ever get those things back. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named probably already has them," Hermione said, returning to the mark.

"Hermione...I er want to go to Godric's Hollow." Hermione looked at him.

"I think so too," she said. Harry looked surprised.

"Did you hear me right?" he asked.

"Of course. You said you want to go to Godric's Hollow and I agree. I mean, I can't think of anywhere else it could be either. It'll be dangerous, but the more I think about it, the more likely it's there."

"Er-_what's_ there?" asked Harry. They looked at each other bewildered.

"Well, the sword Harry! Dumbledore must of known you'd want to go back there, and I mean, Godric's Hollow is Godric Gryffindor's birthplace."

"Really? Gryffindor came from Godric's Hollow!"

"Harry did you ever even open _A History of Magic."_

"Erm, I might've opened it, you know, when I bought it...just once..." He said looking down ashamed. Hermione started laughing.

"Better than I thought." She said. "Well, as the village is named after him I'd have thought you would've made the connection. There's a bit about the village in _A History of Magic..._wait." she opened the beaded bag and rummaged for a while, finally extracting her copy of their old school textbook, _A __History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot, which she thumbed until she found the page.

"_Upon the signature of the International Statue of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good. It was natural, perhaps, that they formed their own small communities within a community. Many small __villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who banded together for mutual support and protection. The villages of Tinworth in Cornwell, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were notable homes to knots of Wizarding families who lived alongside tolerant and sometimes Confounded Muggles. Most celebrated of these half-magical dwelling places is, perhaps, Godric's Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, Wizarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries_."

"You and your parents aren't mentioned," Hermione said, closing the book, "because Professor Bagshot doesn't cover anything later than in the end of the nineteenth century. But you see? Godric's Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Godric's Sword; don't you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?"

"Oh yeah..." Harry didn't want to admit that he had not been thinking about the sword at all when he suggested Godric's Hollow. "Remember what Murial said?" he asked.

"Who?"

"You know, Ginny's great-aunt. At the wedding. The one who said you had skinny ankles, which you obviously don't" He said truthfully. Hermione blushed as she looked at him curiously.

"Just saying the truth. By the way you looked beautiful. I don't think there is anything wrong with you. It was like looking at you in the Yule Ball," he said. They both looked at each other shyly. Harry wasn't sure what made him say that nor why he wanted some kind of reaction from Hermione.

"What did she say?" Hermione asked.

"Bathilda Bagshot still lives in Godric's Hollow." So suddenly Hermione gasped that Harry stood up, took out his wand, pulled Hermione behind him and looked at the entrance expecting to see someone.

"What?" He said when he saw nothing.

"Harry, _what if Bathilda's got the sword? _What if Dumbledore entrusted it to her," she said excited. Harry considered the possibility. It _was _possible Dumbledore would do that but he never mentioned replacing the sword for a fake one nor did he ever mentioned a friendship with Bathilda. Yet, he didn't want to put Hermione down, not when she wanted where he wanted to go.

"Yeah, he might of! So are we going to Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes, but we'll have to think it through carefully, Harry." she said sitting down and pulling a parchment and quilt toward her. This was the first time they would go on an adventure since forever. "We'll need to practice Disapparating together under the Invisibility Cloak for a start, or maybe we should use the Polyjuice Potion? In that case we have to collect hair from someone. Someone just visiting or passing and..." Harry let her talk, nodding and agreeing whenever there was a pause, but his mind had left the conversation.

He was about to go home, about to return to the place where he had had a family. It was in Godric's Hollow that, but for Voldemort, he would have grown up and spent every school holiday. He would have invited friends to his house...He might even have had brothers and sisters...It would have been his mother who made his seventeenth birthday cake. The life he had lost had hardly seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him. That night after Hermione went to sleep, Harry slipped out of bed, and quietly extracted his rucksack from Hermione's beaded bag. From it he got the photo album Hagrid had given him so long ago. For the first time in months, he pursued the old pictures of his parents, smiling and waving up at him from the images, which were all he had left from them now.

Harry would have gladly have set out for Godric's Hollow the following day, but Hermione had other ideas. Convinced that Voldemort would expect Harry to return to the scene of his parents. Harry didn't think it was that much of a problem since they've been training for weeks and have learned many more spells and were more fit. It was a full week later that they set out having obtained hairs from tourists, and had practice Apparating and Disapparating together under the Invisibility cloak.

They were to Apparate to the village under the cover of darkness, so it was late afternoon when they finally swallowed Polyjuice Potion. Harry transformed into a balding, middle-aged Muggle man and Hermione turned into his small and rather mousy wife. The beaded bag was tucked into an inside pocket of Hermione's buttoned-up coat. Harry lowered the Invisibility Cloak over them, then they turned into the suffocating darkness once again.

Heart breathing in his throat, Harry opened his eyes. They were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night's first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicating the center of the village.

"All this snow!" Hermione whispered under the cloak. "Why didn't we think of snow? After all our precautions, we'll leave prints! We'll just have to get rid of them- you go in front, I'll do it all-" Harry didn't want to enter the village like a pantomime horse.

"Let's take off the Cloak." said Harry, and when Hermione looked frightened, "Oh, come on, we don't look like us and there's no one around." Harry looked around to make sure. He stowed the Cloak under his jacket and they made their way forward unhampered, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages. Anyone of them might have been the one in which James and Lily had once lived or where Bathilda lived now. Harry gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches, wondering whether he remembered any of them, knowing deep inside that it was impossible, that he had been little more than a year old when he left the place forever. He wasn't even sure whether he would be able to see the cottage at all; he did not know what happened when the subjects of a Fidelius Charm died. Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.

Strung all around with colored lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post-office, a pub, and a little church whose stained -glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.

The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; they they heard a carol start up inside the little church.

"I think it's Christmas Eve!" said Hermione.

Harry felt a thrill of something that was beyond excitement, more like fear. Now that he was so near, he wondered whether he wanted to see them after all. He felt Hermione's hand squeeze his, as she took the lead pulling him forward. Halfway across the square, however, she stopped dead.

"Harry look!" She was pointing to the war memorial. As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a women with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother's arms. Snow lay upon all the heads, like fluffy white caps.

Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents' faces. He had never imagined that there would be a statue...How strange it was to see himself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on his forehead...

"C'mon," said Harry, when he had looked his fill, and they turned again toward the church. As they crossed the road, he glanced over his shoulder; the statue had turned back to the war memorial.

The singing grew louder as they approached the church. It made Harry's throat constrict, it reminded him so forcefully of Hogwarts, of Peeves bellowing rude versions of carols from inside the suits of armor, of the Great Hall's twelve Christmas trees, of Dumbledore wearing a bonnet he had won in a cracker, of Ron in a hand-knitted sweater...

There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Hermione pushed it open as quietly as possible and they edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow layed deep and untouched. They moved off through the snow, carving behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows.

Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow. Keeping his hand closed tightly on the wand in his jacket pocket, Harry moved to the nearest grave.

"Look at this, it's an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah's!"

"Keep your voice down," Hermione begged.

They waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging dark tracks into the snow behind them, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that they were unaccompanied.

"Harry here!" Hermione was two rows of tombstones away; he had to wade back to her, his heart positively banging in his chest.

"Is it-?"

"No, but look." She pointed to the dark stone. Harry stooped down and say upon the frozen, lichen-spotted granite, the words KENDORA DUMBLEDORE and a short way below her dates of birth and death, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA. There was also a quotation.

_Where your treasure is. there will your heart be also._

So Rita Skeeter and Murial had got some of their facts right. The Dumbledore family had indeed lived here, and part of it had died here.

Seeing the grave was worser than hearing about it. Harry could not help thinking that he and Dumbledore both had deep roots in this graveyard, and that Dumbledore ought to have told him so, yet he had never thought to share the connection. They could have visited the place together; for a moment Harry imagined coming here with Dumbledore, of what a bond that would have been, of how much it would have meant to him. But it seemed that to Dumbledore, the fact that their families lay side by side in the same graveyard had been an unimportant coincidence, irrelevant, perhaps, to the job Harry had to do.

Hermione was looking at Harry, she pulled him to her and hugged him. Harry was glad he had Hermione there with him, he was glad she didn't say anything as well. Harry read the words on the tombstone again, _Where your treasure is, there you'll heart will be also._ He did not understand what these words meant. Surely Dumbledore had chosen them, as the eldest member of the family once his mother had died.

They moved on in silence. Harry didn't want his excitement tainted with resentment. A few moments later Hermione stopped dead. Harry almost bumped into her.

"What?" said Harry looking at the tombstone, thinking she had found them although when he saw the tombstone he saw it crumbly and mossy and knew it wasn't theirs.

"It's that mark. The mark on the book!" she said, confusion in her voice. Harry peered at the mark, the stone was so worn that it was hard to make out what was engraved in there, it was under an illegible name. "It says Ig-Ignot-us, I think..."

"I'm going to keep looking for my parents, all right?" Harry said leaving her at the tombstone. He didn't care for the mark right now he wanted to find his parents.

Every now and then he recognized a surname that, like Abbott, he had met at Hogwarts. Sometimes there were several generations of the same wizarding family represented in the graveyard. Harry could tell from the dates that it had either died out, or the current members had moved away from Godric's Hollow. Deeper and deeper amongst the graves he went, and every time he reached a new headstone he felt a little lurch of apprehension and anticipation.

The darkness and the silence seemed to become, all of the sudden, much deeper. Harry looked around worried, thinking of a dementor, then realized that the carols had finished, that the chatter and flurry of the churchgoers were fading away as they made their way back into the square. Somebody inside the church had just turned off the lights.

The Hermione's voice came out of the blackness for the third time, sharp and clear from a few yards away. "Harry, they're here...right here!"

And he knew by her tone that it was his mother and father this time. He moved toward her, feeling as if something heavy were pressing on his chest, the same sensation he had had right after Dumbledore had died, a grief that had actually weighed on his heart and lungs.

The headstone was only two rows behind Kendra and Ariana's. It was make of white marble, just like Dumbledore's tomb, and this made it easy to read, as it seemed to shine in the dark. Harry did not need to kneel or even approach very close to it to make out the words engraved upon it.

JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER

BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960  
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_

Harry read the words slowly, as though he would have only one chance to take in their meaning, and he read the last of them aloud.

" 'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death'..." A horrible thought came to him, and with it a kind of panic. "Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is it here?"

"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it." said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means...you know...living beyond death. Living after death."

But they were not living, thought Harry: They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents' moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing in his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressing hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrafice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.

Hermione had taken his hand and was gripping it tightly. He returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control. He should have brought something to give them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle around the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents' grave.

As soon as he stood up he wanted to leave, he did not think he could stand another moment there. He put his arms around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore's mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.

Harry saw Hermione's tears, although she tried hiding them, he held her closer knowing she was crying for him. For the parent's of the boy she loved, for all the injustices he had to face because of their killer and for them, for they did not live a full life, they did not live to see their son become a man they could be proud of.

* * *

**AN: **I know that some of the parts sound like what JK wrote well your right. I just rewrote them. I'm not trying to remake the book I'm just trying to make it so that Harry and Hermione end up together. Sorry about grammer, spelling or how the tombstones came out. I had written it nicely but they didn't come out like that. I just realize that if you read my other story REALIZATION then this one you'll see how Harry comes to conclusion that he likes Hermione.

I'll try to write the next chapter fast. You know this isn't the only story I'm working on. Please REVIEW.

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww_


	2. Chapter 2: Bathilda's Secret

I tried typing this as fast as I could. So I tried following JK's style of writing as close as possible. I also tried following the story line.

**DISCLAIMER:** _I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. Obviously I mean my name is not on the covers of the books and I'm not British. Jeez._

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww_

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Bathilda's Secret

"Harry, stop."

"What's wrong?" They had only reached the grave of the unknown Abbott.

"There's someone there. Someone watching us. I can tell. There, over by the bushes." They stood quite still, holding each other, gazing at the dense black boundary of the graveyard. Harry could not see anything.

"Are you sure?"

"I saw something move, I could have sworn I did..." She moved herself so that her wand arm was free.

"We look like muggles," Harry pointed out.

"Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parents' grave! Harry, I'm sure there's someone over there!"

Harry thought of _A History of Magic_; the graveyard was supposed to be haunted: what if-? But then he heard a rustle and saw a little eddy of dislodged snow in the bush to which Hermione had pointed. Ghosts could not move snow. Harry moved Hermione to his other side away from the bush. He kept his hand on his wand ready.

"It's a cat," said Harry, after a second or two, "or a bird. If it was a Death Eater we'd be dead by now. But let's get out of here, and we can put the cloak back on."

They glanced back repeatedly as they made their way out of the graveyard. Harry, who did not feel as sanguine as he had pretended when reassuring Hermione, was glad to reach the gate and the slippery pavement. They pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves. The pub was fuller than before. Many voices inside it were now singing the carol that they had head as they approached the church. For a moment Harry considered suggesting they make refuge inside it, but before he could say anything Hermione murmured, "Let's go this way," and pulled him down the dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. Harry could make out the point where the cottages ended and the land turned into open country again. They walked quickly as they dared, past more windows sparkling with multicolored lights, the outlines of Christmas trees dark through the curtains.

"How are we going to find Bathilda's house?" asked Hermione, who was shivering a little and kept glancing back over her shoulder. "What do you think? Harry?" She tugged at his arm, but Harry was not paying attention. He was looking toward the dark mass that stood at the very end of this row of houses. Next moment he had sped up, dragging Hermione along with him; she slipped a little on the ice.

"Harry-'

"Look...Look at it, Hermione..."

"I don't...oh!"

He could see it; the Fidelius Charm mush have died with James and Lily. The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Harry was sure, was where the curse backfired. He and Hermione stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

"I wonder why nobody's ever rebuilt it?" whispered Hermione.

"Maybe you can't rebuilt it?" Harry replied. "Maybe it's like the injuries from the Dark Magic and you can't repair the damage?"

He slipped a hand from beneath the Cloak and grasped the snowy and thickly rusted gate, not wishing to open it, but simply to hold some part of the house.

"You're not going inside? It looks unsafe, it might-oh, Harry look!"

His touch on the gate seemed to have done it. A sign had risen out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

**On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,  
Lily and James Potter lost their lives.  
Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard  
ever to have survived the Killing Curse.  
This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left  
in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters  
and as a reminder of the violence  
that tore apart their family.**

And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, stilll others had left messages. The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years' worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things.

_Good luck, Harry, wherever you are._

**If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!**

Long live Harry Potter

"They shouldn't have written on the sign!" said Hermione, indignant. But Harry beamed at her.

"It's brilliant. I'm glad they did. I..." He broke off. A heavily muffled figure was hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square. Harry thought, though it was hard to judge, that the figure was a woman. She was moving slowly, possibly frightened of slipping on the snowy ground. Her stoop, her stoutness, her shuffling gait all gave an impression of extreme age. They watched in silence as she drew nearer. Harry was waiting to see whether she would turn into any of the cottages she was passing, but he knew instinctively that she would not. He pulled Hermione behind him, the list of curses ran through his mind. Hermione gripped his hand and shoulder roughly. At last she came to a halt a few yards from them and simply stood there in the middle of the frozen road, facing them.

There was next to chance that this woman was a Muggle; she was standing there gazing at the house that ought to have been completely invisible to her, if she was not a witch. Even if she _was_ a witch, however, it was odd behavior to come out on a night this cold, simply to look at an old ruin. By all the rules of normal magic, meanwhile, she ought not to be able to see Hermione and him at all. Nevertheless, Harry had a strange feeling that she knew that they were there, and also who they were. Just as he reached this uneasy conclusion, she raised a glove hand and beckoned.

"How does she know?" whispered Hermione. Harry shook his head. The woman beckoned again, more vigorously. Harry could think of many reasons not to obey the summons, and yet his suspicions about her identity were growing stronger every moment that they stood facing each other in the deserted street.

Was it possibly that she had been waiting for them all these long months. That Dumbledore had told her to wait, and that Harry would come in the end. Was it not likely that it was she who moved in the shadows in the graveyard and had followed them to this spot? Even her ability to sense them suggested some Dumbleodore-ish power that he had never encountered before.

Finally Harry spoke, causing Hermione to gasp and jump. "Are you Bathilda?" The muffled figure nodded and beckoned again. Beneath the Cloak Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows; Hermione gave a tiny, nervous nod.

They stepped toward the woman and, at once, she turned and hobbled off back the way they had come. Leading them past several houses, she turned in at a gate. They followed her up the front path through a garden nearly as overgrown as the one they had just left. She fumbled for a moment with a key at the front door, then opened it, and stepped back to let them pass.

She smelled bad, or perhaps it was her house, Harry wrinkled his nose as they sidled past her and pulled off the Cloak. Now that he was beside her, he realized how tiny she was; bowed down with age, she came barely level with his chest. She closed the door behind them, her knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling paint, then turned and peered into Harry's face. Her eyes were thick with cataracts and sunken into folds of transparent skin, and her whole face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots. He wondered whether she would make him out at all; even if she could, it was the balding Muggle whose identity he had stolen that she would see.

The odor of old age, of dust, of unwashed clothes and stale food intensified as she unwounded a moth-eaten black shawl, revealing a head scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly.

"Bathilda?" Harry repeated.

She nodded again. Harry became aware of the locket inside his pocket; the thing inside it that sometimes ticked or beat had awoken, he could feel it pulsing through the cold gold. Did it know, could it sense, that the thing that would destroy it was near?

Bathilda shuffled past them, pushing Hermione aside as though she had not seen her, and vanished into what seemed to be a sitting room.

"Harry, I'm not sure about this," breathed Hermione.

"I know sort of rude." Harry said walking toward Hermione. He saw the worry in her eyes. "Hermione, look at the size of her; I think we could overpower her if we had to. I forgot to tell you that Murial said she was a little 'gaga'." Harry said.

"Come!" called Bathilda from the next room. Hermione jumped and clutched Harry's arm.

"It's ok. Let's not get separated." Harry said reassuringly.

Bathilda was tottering around the place lighting candles, but it was still very dark, not to mention extremely dirty. Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and Harry's nose detected, underneath the dank and mildweed smell, something worse, like meat gone bad. He wondered whether she was coping. She seemed to have forgotten that she could do magic, too, for she lit the candles clumsily by hand, her trailing lace cuff in constant danger of catching fire.

"Let me do that," offered Harry, and he took his wand out and lid the rest of the candles, never letting Hermione go. Bathilda stood watching them as they walked around the room turning the candles on magically.

The last surface on which Harry spotted a candle was a bow-fronted chest of drawers on which there stood a large number of photographs. When the flame danced into life, it's reflection wavered on their dusty glass and silver. He saw the few tiny movements from the pictures. As Bathilda fumbled with logs for the fire, he muttered _"Tergo"_; the dust vanished from the photographs, and he saw at once that half a dozen were missing from the largest and most ornate frames. He wondered whether Bathilda or somebody else had removed them. He showed it to Hermione who looked at it confused. A sight of a photograph near the back of the collection caught his eye, and he snatched it up.

It was the golden-haired, merry-faced theif, the young man who had perched on Gregorovitch's windowsill, smiling lazily up at Harry out of the silver frame. And it came to Harry instantly where he had seen the boy before, in _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumledore_, arm in arm with the teenage Dumbledore and that must be where all the missing photographs were: in Rita's book.

"Mrs.- Miss- Bagshot?" he said, and his voice shook slightly. "Who is this?" Bathilda had just lit the fire as Harry asked the question. "Miss Bagshot?" Harry repeated, and he advanced with the picture in his hands. Bathilda looked up at his voice. "Who is this person?" Harry asked pushing the picture forward.

She peered at it solemnly, then up at Harry. "Do you know who this is?" he repeated much slower and much louder than usual. "This man? Do you know him? What's he called?" Bathilda merely looked vague. Harry felt awful frustration. How had Rita Skeeter unlocked Bathilda's memories? "Who is this man?" Harry repeated again louder.

"Harry, what are you doing?" asked Hermione.

"This picture, Hermione, it's the thief, the thief who stole from Gregoroitch! Please!" he said to Bathilda. "Who is this man?" But she only stared at him.

"Why did you ask us to come with you, Mrs.-Miss- Bagshot?" asked Hermione, raising her own voice. "Was there something you wanted to show us?"

Giving no sign that she had heard Hermione, Bathilda now shuffled a few steps closer to Harry. With a little jerk of her head she looked back into the hall.

"You want us to leave?" he asked. She repeated the gesture, this time pointing firstly at him then at herself then at the ceiling.

"Oh right...Hermione, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her."

"All right," said Hermione, "let's go." But when Hermione moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigor, once more pointing first at Harry then at herself.

"She wants me to go with her alone."

"Why?" asked Hermione, and her voice rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit room; the old lady shook her head a little at the loud noise.

"Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me and only me?"

"I don't trust her Harry," Hermione whispered.

"I got an idea, stay behind us. Don't let her see you. If something happens then you'll be there to help." He said in a murmur. He turned to Bathilda, "lead the way."

She seemed to understand, because she shuffled around him toward the door. Harry glanced back at Hermione, with a nod, and followed Bathilda. As Harry walked out of the room, he slid the silver-frame photograph of the unknown thief inside his pocket.

The stairs were steep and narrow; Harry was half tempted to place his hands on stout Bathilda's backside to ensure she did not topple over backwards on top of him, which seemed only too likely. Slowly, wheezing a little, she climbed to the upper landing, turned immediately right, and led him into a low-ceiling bedroom. Before he entered he turned to see Hermione a little way off. They both nodded and Harry entered.

It was pitch-black and smelled horrible; Harry had just made out a chamber pot protruding from under the bed before Bathilda closed the door and even that was swallowed by the darkness.

"_Lumos,_" said Harry, and his wand ignited. He gave a start; Bathilda had moved close to him in those few seconds of darkness, and he had not heard her approach.

"You are Potter?" she whispered.

"Yes, I am."

She nodded slowly, solemnly. Harry felt the Horocrux beating fast, faster than his own heart. It was unpleasant, agitating sensation.

"Have you anything for me?" Harry asked, but she seemed distracted by his wand-tip. "Have you anything for me?" he repeated.

Then she closed her eyes and several things happened at once: Harry's scar prickled painfully; the Horocrux twitched so that the front of his sweater actually moved; the dark, fetid room dissolved momentarily. He felt a leap of joy and spoke in a high, cold voice: _Hold him!_

Harry swayed where he stood; the dark, foul-smelling room seemed to close around him again; he did not know what had just happened.

"Have you anything for me?" he asked for the third time, much louder.

"Over here," she whispered, pointing to the corner. Harry raised his wand and saw the outline of a cluttered dressing table beneath the curtain window.

This time she did not lead him. Harry edged between her and the unmade bed, his wand raised. He did not want to look away from her.

"What is it?" he asked as he reached the dressing table, which was heaped high with what looked and smelled like dirt laundry.

"There," she said, pointing at the shapeless mass.

And an instant that he looked away, his eyes raking the tangled mess for sword halt, a ruby, she moved weirdly. He saw it out of the corner of his eye; panic made him turn and horror paralyzed him as he saw the old body collapsing and the great snake pouring from the place where her neck had been.

The snake struck as he raised his wand. The force of the bite to his forearm sent the wand spinning up toward the ceiling its light swung dizzlying around the room and was extinguished. Then a powerful blow from the tail to his midriff knocked the breath out of him. He fell backward onto the dressing table, into the mound of filthy clothing.

He rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding the snake's tail, which thrashed down upon the table where he had been a second earlier; fragments of the glass surface rained upon him as he hit the floor. He heard the door open and Hermione call out a spell. The snake retreated backward as the spell hit it.

Harry could not get enough breath into his lungs to call out to her as the snakes' tail whipped and threw Hermione across the room. Harry with no worry for his own life lunged toward the snakes' tail. It felt like first year all over again.

"_Accio...Accio Wand..."_ his wand did not come. He needed to get the snake away from Hermione. The snake pinned him to the floor and he felt it slide over him, powerful, muscular-. "No!" he gasped, looking around for his wand.

"_Yes,"_ whispered the voice. _"Yesss...hold you...hold you..." _A bright light and the snake let go. It turned toward Hermione leaving Harry gasping for air. It lunged for Hermione as Hermione dived aside with a shriek, her deflected curse hit the curtain window, which shattered. Frozen air filled the room as Harry ducked to avoid another shower of broken glass and his foot slipped on a pencil-like something- his wand-

He bent and snatched it up, but now the room was full of the snake, its tail thrashing and Hermione was nowhere to be seen and for a moment Harry thought the worst, but then there was a loud bang and a flash of red light, and the snake flew into the air, smacking the ceiling. Harry raised his wand, but as he did so, his scar seared more painfully, more powerfully than it had done in years.

"HE'S COMING! _HERMIONE HE'S COMING!"_

As he yelled the snake fell, hissing wildly. Everything was chaos; the snake smashed the shelves from the wall, and splintered china flew everywhere as Harry jumped over the bed and seized the dark shape figure he knew to be Hermione.

She shrieked with pain as he pulled her back across the bed as the snake was coming, but Harry knew that worse than the snake was coming, was perhaps already at the gate, his head was going to split open with pain from his scar-

The snake lunged as he took a running leap, dragging Hermione with him; as it struck, Hermione screamed, "_Confringo!"_and her spell flew around the room, exploding the wardrobe mirror and ricocheting back at them, bouncing from floor to ceiling. Harry felt the heat of it sear the back of his hand. Glass cut his cheek as, pulling Hermione with him, he lept from bed to broken dressing table and then straight out of the smashed window into nothingness, her scream reverberating through the night as they twisted in midair...

And then his scar burst open as he was Voldemort and he was running across the fetid bedroom, his long white hands clutching at the windowsill as he glimpsed the bald man and the little woman twist and vanish, and he screamed with rage, a scream that mingled with the girl's, that echoed across the dark gardens over the church bells ringing in Christmas Day...

And his scream was Harry's scream, his pain was Harry's pain...that it could happen here, where it had happened before...here, within sight of that house where he had come so close to knowing what it was to die...to die...The pain was so terrible...ripped from his body... But if he had no body, why did his head hurt so badly; if he was dead, how could he feel so unbearably, didn't pain cease with death, didn't it go...

_The night wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins wadling across the square, and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe...And he was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions...Not anger...that for weaker souls than he...but triumph, yes...He has waited for this, he had hoped for it..._

_"Nice custome, mister!"_

_He saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see behind the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face: Then the child turned and ran away...Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand...One simple movement and child would never reach his mother...but unnecessary, quite unnecessary..._

_And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet...And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it..._

_They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist..._

_A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning..._

_The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open._

_He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand..._

_"Lily, take Harry and go! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

_Hold him off, without a wand in his hand!...He laughed before casting the curse..._

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_The greeen light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut..._

_He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear...He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in...She had no wand upon her either...How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments..._

_He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand...and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead..._

_"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now."_

_"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"_

_"This is my last warning-"_

_"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-I'll do anything-"_

_"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

_He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all..._

_The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time. He could not stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who his behind the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing-_

_He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face. He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger, The child began to cry; it had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage-_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_And then he broke, he was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away...far away..._

"No," he moaned.

_The snake rustled on the filthy, cluttered floor, and he had killed the boy, and yet he was the boy..._

"No..."

_And now he stood at the broken window of Bathilda's house, immersed in memories of his greatest loss, and at his feet the great snake slithered over broken china and glass...He looked down and saw something...something incredible..._

"No..."

"Harry, it's all right, you're all right!"

_He stooped down and picked up the smashed photograph. There he was, the unknown thief, the thief he was seeking..._

"No...I dropped it...I dropped it..."

"Harry, it's okay, wake up, wake up!"

He was Harry...Harry, not Voldemort... and the thing that rustled was not a snake...He opened his eyes.

"Harry," Hermione whispered. "Do you fell all-all right?"

"Sort of," he replied. He was in the tent, lying on one of the lower bunks beneath a heap of blankets. He could tell that it was dawn by the stillness and the quality of the cold, flat light beyond the canvas ceiling. He was drenched in sweat; he could feel it on the sheets and blankets.

"We got away?"

"Yes," said Hermione, she got into bed and pulled Harry to her so that his head was on her shoulders and his body on her, like a mother cradling a baby. She pulled the blankets over them. "I had to use the Hover Charm to get you into your bunk, I couldn't lift you. You've been...Well, you haven't been quite..." Harry looked up at her and saw at once the purple shadows under her brown beautiful eyes. He raised his hand and stroked under her eyes. "You've been ill," she finished, closing her eyes at Harry's touch. Harry couldn't believe the lengths Hermione went for him.

"How long ago did we leave?" Harry asked.

"Hours ago. It's nearly morning," Hermione replied.

"And I've been...what, unconscious?"

"Not exactly," Hermione said. "You've been shouting and moaning and...things," she added in a tone that made Harry feel uneasy. What had he done? Screamed curses like Voldemort, cried like a baby in the crib?

"Oh, I am sorry you had to hear it." Harry said looking at Hermione in the eyes. "But whatever it is I hope you can forget it."

"Harry...did you...did you really see how it happened?" she whispered.

"I really wish I didn't. Let's forget about it please?" he said, a tear escaped his eyes despite him trying to contain it.

"I will." she said retaining her own tears. "The snake bit you, but I've cleaned the wound and put some dittany on it..."

Harry pulled off the sweaty T-shirt he was wearing and looked down to see a half-healed puncture marks on his forearm.

"Thanks. Where is the Horocrux?" he said looking around. He spotted it hanging on one of the bunks. "We shouldn't have gone to Godric's Hollow. It's all my fault, it all my fault, Hermione. I'm sorry." Harry pleaded to Hermione.

"It's not your fault. I wanted to go too; I really thought Dumbledore might have left the sword there for you," Hermoine replied quickly.

"Yeah, well...we got that wrong, didn't we?" he said, not lifting his head.

"Harry where was the snake? Where was it hiding? Did it just come out and kill her and attack you?" she asked.

"No," he replied, looking at her. "_She_ was the snake...or the snake was her...all along."

"W-What?" He closed his eyes. He could still smell Bathilda's house on him; it made the whole thing horrible vivid.

"Bathilda must've been dead a while. The snake was...was inside her. You-Know-Who put it there in Godric's Hollow, to wait. You were right. He knew I'd go back." Harry dropped his head.

"The snake was _inside _her?" He opened his eyes to see Hermiones expression. She looked revolted, nauseated.

"Lupin said there would be magic we'd never imagined," Harry said after a while. "She didn't want to talk in front of you, because it was Parseltongue, all Parseltongue, and I didn't realize, but of course I could understand her. Once we were in the room, the snake sent a message to You-Know-Who, I heard it happen inside my head, I felt him get excited, he said to keep me there...and..."

He remembered the snake coming out of Bathilda's neck; Hermione did not need to know the details. "...she changed, changed into the snake, and attacked." He looked down at the puncture marks. "It wasn't supposed to kill me, just keep me there till You-Know-Who came."

If he had only managed to kill the snake, it would have been worth it, all of it...

"Thanks to you I'm alive, you can't imagine how much I am grateful that I have you." Harry grabbed Hermiones hands and held them up to his bare chest. He transferred both hands to his left one and with his right pulled her closer to him. "I'm glad that I met you and that you stuck with me through all these years. Even when I didn't defend you from...him," Harry said. Their breathes were on top of one another. He expected her to slap him or push him away but instead she moved closer to him.

"Harry I don't know what I'd do without you as well," Hermione said barely above a whisper. Their eyes stared at each other intensly.

"I love you," He said with a steady voice. He knew that he meant it and that he had felt it for a very long time. He knew that this was right and that they belonged together so he captured her lips. He tasted and savored her flavor. With his tongue he traced around her lips asking for permission to enter. When granted his explore the inside. He explored every corner touching and licking it all.

He let Hermiones hand go and automatically they went to his already messy hair. With both hands he tried pulling closer to him.

* * *

**AN: **NOT THE END. Just asking people who are underage to skip this part until they come to another authors note. PLEASE, I don't want to corrupt your mind s. There I did my part to warn you so don't blame me when you guys become perverts. LOL that would be fun. A world full with perverts.

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww_

* * *

Suddenly the tone changed. It went into a tone of need and hunger. They ravaged each others mouths getting high on each others smell and taste. When they were breathless Harry moved down to her neck. There the smell was stronger and sweeter. He tasted her delicious skin. He took off her shirt and threw it carelessly. He kissed her shoulder and he headed slowly, tracing with his lips and his tongue, toward her girls. With one quick movement her bra was gone. He threw that carelessly as well. He looked at her body, her curves, her soft skin tracing it all with his fingers followed by his tongue. Tasting her soft warm skin that was only his to enjoy.

He finally arrived at her breasts. He gently held one with his right hand, tracing with his thumb her nibble. He smiled at himself as Hermione moaned with pleasure. He lowered his head and started sucking it as Hermione kept moaning. He repeated his action with the other one making sure they were nice and hard.

"_Harry,"_ Hermione kept moaning. He finished them both and arrived in the middle of them. He kissed her hands before again making his way down to her pants. He took them off with his hands as his mouth captured her tongue. With the help of Hermione they finally came off leaving only her underwear. Harry hand went down her thighs; he could feel Hermione shiver. "My turn," he heard her say.

She let his lips go and headed down for his neck. She stopped to watch his body. He had gotten more muscular and less fat. His many scars, which he had gotten through the years, were visible. She traced with her fingers his muscles. Tracing every line making Harry grab the sheets. Harry saw a wicked smile appear in her face. It was now his turn to moan her name. _Hermione._

With her teeth she undid his pants and took them off; making Harry grab the sheets even harder. Teasingly her hand went past Harry's erected penis. She took off his boxers careful not to bend his erection.

_"Hermione I need you,_" Harry finally managed to say. Holding on to the sheets for dear life. Hermiones breath licked with the tip of her tongue lightly his balls. She didn't get to finish since Harry pulled her under him. He ruthlessly took off her underwear. He traced her vagina before entering. God, how delicious Hermione tasted. He made sure to taste it all. He could hear Hermiones' other brain taking over. She was now screaming unintelligible things and directing his head where to go, not that he needed directions.

Harry headed up to her when Hermione stopped his progress.

"Harry... wait...let...me..._Accio condemn." _she managed. A condemn flew out of her beaded bag. Harry didn't know since when Hermione had one nor did he care. He put it on rapidly. Hermione felt it to make sure their were no holes, making Harry crumble.

"Hermione," Harry said.

"Wait, one more thing." She muttered some spells and pointed her wand on both of them. Harry neither could remember learning spells for this type of thing. He was sure Hermione prepared herself for this.

"Ok, are you sure about this?" she asked looking him in the eye.

"Positive." he replied giving her a soft kiss. She nodded and in a blink of an eye Harry entered Hermione.

He stopped as he saw Hermione's face turn with pain.

"Are you ok?" he asked with concern.

"Yeah...just give me a minute." She finally opened her eyes and gave him a nod. Harry exited her and went back in slowly. Hermione once again closed her eyes but the pain was not shown. Instead a smile appeared.

Harry continued slowly waiting until her face no longer showed pain but delight. She opened her eyes and looked at him straight in the eye. Harry saw a sparkle appear.

"You're slowness is killing me." she said teasingly. Harry closed his eyes as he started going faster and harder, taking it as a sign and not as an insult. Hermione started yelling his name, while he could barely whisper hers. Harry was sure that at his currant speed and hardness he was hurting Hermione, but when she said, "Yes, Harry. Yes right there, right there," he stopped worrying. In fact he went a little harder and faster.

Harry pulled Hermione so hard that it felt they would melt into one. He couldn't have enough of her. When the walls started coming closer, he knew he had to stop. He didn't want to for he felt so good in her, but he knew he had to.

* * *

**AN: **Alright you can begin reading again. I really doubt anyone even followed my instructions. I don't care I did my part to warn you so I don't feel guilty. Anyway back to the story. I know the story could've gone on without this but I know that fan fic readers love to read these types of things.

_Noodles  
Owwwwww _

* * *

Out of breath and sweaty he crashed down aside of Hermione. It took a while before both had their breath under control. Harry pulled Hermione toward him. They both stayed silent; and finally drifted to sleep. Both dreaming of the person next to them and both dreaming about the love that they just made.


	3. Chapter 3: The Life and Lies of Albus

**DISCLAIMER:** _Wouldn't it be cool if I did own Harry Potter. I'd be like filthy rich. Anyway all the characters and whatevers belong to JK Rowling. She has her name on the books and if I did well I wouldn't have a disclaimer would I. DUH._

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww_

* * *

Chapter Eighteen:The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore

The sun had come out only to find Harry and Hermione in bed butt naked hugging each other. Harry woke up feeling relieved and exuberant. It was like years of pain and suffering had vanish that night. He looked at Hermiones' sleeping figure. She looked at ease and without a care in the world. He also noticed the big smile Hermione was wearing that only matched his own. He loved her and she him.

Hermione stirred. Harry kissed her until she was awake.

"Mmmmm. What a nice way to wake up," she said, her voice sounded hoarse.

"I couldn't agree more," he responded, his voice sounding hoarse as well. "I don't want to do anything but lay here with you all day." With that his stomach growled. Hermione started giggling.

"I think your stomach has other plans," Hermione said getting up. Harry watched as Hermione walked naked to the kitchen. "What would you like, Harry." She called from the kitchen.

"Besides you," Harry saw Hermione blush. "Umm what do we have?" Harry asked getting up and walking toward Hermione.

"Not much. We ate our last supplies of good food yesterday. I think we have some eggs and toast but that's about it." she said reaching for the eggs. Harry couldn't help but stare at her naked form. "Harry as flattering as it is to have you stare at me, I really think it would be nice if you didn't." she said putting the eggs down. Harry strode to her and in a flash had her in his arms. "Harry, what are you..." she didn't finish because Harry started kissing her.

When he had his share Harry whispered in her ear, "I'll try controlling myself." Harry could feel Hermione melting at his words. He retreated with a smile. Hermione seemed to find it hard to regain control. "Let's wear clothe. It's easier that way."

Harry had to walk around all over the tent to find his boxers. He bent down under the bed. He saw two pieces of what looked like a pencil. He took out the two pieces and immediately recognized it. It was his wand, the wand that had saved him millions of times and had stuck with him through all these years. He refused to believe it was broken. He grabbed Hermiones' wand and summoned all of his magic. "_Reparo_" he said loud and clear.

The wand pieces stuck together. He threw Hermiones' wand and picked up his. He gave it a flick, but nothing happened. He pointed to the pillow and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa"_ The pillow lifted a little before the wand snagged in two. Harry just stayed there looking at it. All the happiness of the morning gone.

After a while he heard Hermione come up to him and say, "Harry...I-I...I'm sorry." She hesitatingly put her hand on his shoulder. He touched her hand but didn't turn around. "I think it happened when I said the last spell. I'm sorry I just wanted us..."

"Don't be,"Harry said turning around. He carefully placed his wand on the bed stand and hugged Hermione. "Never be sorry for rescuing me. If you hadn't I wouldn't be here." He sat her down on top of him. He started caressing her hair. "In third year, after the whole broomstick incident I felt...feel horrible. I decided I wouldn't be mad over things. Like I said last night you are more important than anything else in the world." He felt a tear form.

Hermione broke lose. She looked at the tear fall. She looked miserable and sad and it broke Harry's heart. "Harry, that wand helped you defeat You-Know-Who countless times. Without it, he would've killed you along time ago. And now it can't help because like...Ron's wand it is broken." she said looking down.

"Yeah, but now I have you. Like Klaus would say, 'there is always a way'." He saw a weak smile appear on Hermione's face. A smile broke out on his face. "In fact," Harry pulled Hermione to the bed, "if you want I'll show you how much I love you." He raised his eyebrows. Hermione started giggling.

"You mean more to me than materials too." She pulled him to her and kissed him. She pulled back and said, "we have talk."

Harry gave a small groan.

"What about?"

"For starters what is this we are doing?" Hermione asked breaking lose from him and standing up. "Then there is the question of Ginny and Ron."

"Hermione, I don't know how or why I just know that somehow I fell in love with you. Assuming of course that you are already in love with me. Otherwise, you wouldn't have let me do what I did last night." She blushed and looked down. "I guess in a way, I always felt this connection between us. Then I got thinking of all the times you were there for me and how you never left me no matter how intolerable I was. It just came together, you know. Something just clicked inside of me and everything made sense. What Ginny and I had was very superficial,very on the surface. We didn't have the depth that you and I have."

Hermione sat besides him and took his hands. "It's just that you never seemed to show any interest. I didn't perceive any signs that maybe you saw me as anything but that bushy-haired girl that bossed you around. I had given up."

"Well you know how stubborn of a bloke I can be at times," Harry said tickling Hermione. He liked hearing her laugh, it made him feel elated.

He stopped tickling her and gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading for the kitchen again. While eating, their conversation turned to the horcruxes.

"Look, let's look at this step by step," Hermione started. "Dumbledore said he has seven Horocrux's. One of them is him, another was the ring, the locket, the cup, something from Ravenclaw, the snake and something else. The ring and locket we have. Why don't we look for the cup. I think we should go to a library to research Helga Hufflepuff. Then we go and research Rowena Revenclaw."

"Yeah, I think so too. But we still don't know where the sword is," Harry said angrily. Where was that bloddy sword.

"Let's worry about finding the Horocrux then about killing them." Hermione said, finishing her breakfast. "Now, we can't just march up to any old magical library and check out books."

"How about we just take them. I mean we'll return them once we are done," Harry piched in.

"It's not that easy. There are protection spells to stop wizards from doing that. I think it's best we don't now that I think of it. We can't afford to make any unnecessary risks." Hermione's face as creastfallen. He knew she missed sitting in a library reading books.

"I have something to show you." Hermione said her face turned serious. Harry stopped laughing.

"What is it?" Hermione walked to her beaded bag and took out a bulky book.

"Harry, you wanted to know who the man in the picture was, and well...I've got the book." Hermione said showing Harry the book. It was a pristine copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore._

"Where-how-?"

"It was in Bathilda's sitting room, just lying there...This note was sticking out of the top of it." Hermione said sitting down on the bed. Hermione read a few lines of spiky, green writing aloud. "_Dear Betty, Thanks for your help. Here's a copy of the book, hope you like it. Yous said everything, even if you don't remember it. Rita. _I think it must have arrived while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn't in any fit enough to state to read it."

"No she probably wasn't." Harry looked down upon the Dumbledore's face and expierenced a surge of savage pleasure; now he would know all the things that Dumbledore had never thought it worth telling him, whether Dumbledore wanted him to or not.

He sat down aside from Hermione. She caught his hand and held it tight. Clearly she knew this would be an emotional time for him.

"Can you do this?" Hermione asked timidly.

"With you by my side I think I can do anything." Harry said squeezing her hand. Together they opened the book. It's spine was stiff; it had clearly never been opened before. He riffled through the pages, looking for photographs. He came across the one he sought almost at once, the young Dumbledore and his handsome companion, roaring with laughter at some long-forgotten joke. Harry dropped his eyes to the caption.

**Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother's death,  
with his friend Gellart Grindelwald.**

Harry gasped at the last word for several long moments. Grindelwald. His friend Grindelwald. He looked sideways at Hermione, who was still contemplating the name as though she could not believe her eyes. Slowly she looked at Harry.

_"Grindelwald?"_

Ignoring the remainder of the photographs, Harry searched the pages around them for the recurrence of that fatal name. He soon discovered it and read greedily, but became lost. It was necessary to go further back to make sense of it all, and eventually he found himself at the start of a chapter entitled "The Greater Good." Together, he and Hermione started to read:

Now approaching his eighteenth birthday, Dumbledore left Hogwarts in a blaze of  
glory-Head Boy, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting,  
British Young Representative to the Wizengmot, Gold Medal-Winner for Ground-Breaking  
Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo. Dumbledore intended,  
next, to take a Grand Tour with Elphias "Dogbreath" Doge, the dim-witted but devoted  
sidekick he picked up at school.

The two young men were staying at the Leaky Cauldron in London, preparing to depart  
for Greece the following morning, when an owl arrived bearing news of Dumbledore's mother's  
death. "Dogbreath" Doge, who refused to be interviewed for this book, has given the public  
his own sentimental version of what happened next. He represents Kendra's death as a tragic  
blow, a Dumbledore's decision to give up his expedition as an act of noble self-sacrifice.

Certainly Dumbledore returned to Godric's Hollow at once, supposedly to "care" for his  
younger brother and sister. But how much care did he actually give them?

"He were a head case, that Aberforth," says Enid Smeek, whose family lived on the  
outskirts of Godric's Hollow at that time. "Ran wild. 'Course, with his mum and dad gone  
you'd have felt sorry for him, only he kept chucking goat dung at my head. I don't think  
Albus was fussed about him, I never saw them together, anyway."

So what was Albus doing, if not comforting his wild young brother? The answer, it seems,  
is ensuring the continued imprisonment of his sister. For, though her first jailer had died, there  
was no change in the pitiful condition of Ariana Dumbledore. Her existence continued to be  
unknown only to those few outsiders who, like "Dogbreath" Doge, could be counted upon to  
believe in the story of her "ill health."

Another such easily satisfied friend of the family was Bathilda Bagshot, the celebrated  
magical historian who has lived in Godric's Hollow for many years. Kendra, of course,  
had rebuffed Bathilda when she was first attempted to welcome the family to the village.  
Several years later, however, the author sent an owl to Albus at Hogwarts, having been  
favorably impressed by his paper on trans-species transfromation in _Transfiguration Today._  
This initial contact led to acquaintance with the entire Dumbledore family. At the time of  
Kendra's death, Bathilda was the only person in Godric's Hollow who was on speaking  
terms with Dumbeldore's mother.

Unfortunately, the brilliance that Bathilda exhibited earlier in her life had now  
dimmed. "The fire's it, but the cauldron's empty," as Ivor Dillonsby put it to me, or,  
in Enid Smeek's slightly earthier phrase, "She's as nutty as squirrel poo." Nevertheless,  
a combination of tried-and-tested reporting techniques enabled me to extract enough  
nuggets of hard fact to string together the whole scandalous story.

Like the rest of the Wizarding world, Bathilda puts Kendra's premature death down to  
the backfiring charm, a story repeated by Albus and Aberforth in later years. Bathilda also  
parrots the family line on Arian, calling her "frail" and "delicate." On one subject, however,  
Bathilda is well worth the effort I put into procuring Veritaserum, for she, and she alone, knows  
the full story of the best-kept secret of Albus Dumbledore's Life. Now revealed for the first time,  
it calls into question everything that his admirers believed of Dumbledore; his suppose hatred  
of the Dark Arts, his opposition to the oppression of Muggles, even his devotion to his  
own family.

The very summer that Dumbeldore went home to Godric's Hollow, now an orphan  
and head of the family, Bathilda Bagshot agreed to accept into her home her great-nephew,  
Gellart Grindelwald.

The name of Grindelwald is justly famous; in a list of Most Dangerous Dark Wizards of All Time,  
he would miss out on the top spot only because You-Know-Who arrived, a generation later, to  
steal his crown. As Grindelwald never extended his campaign of terror to Britian, however, the  
details of his rise to power are not widely known here.

Educated at Drumstrang, a school famous even then for its unfortunate tolerance of the  
Dark Arts, Grindelwald showed himself quite as precociously brilliant as Dumbledore.  
Rather than channel his abilities into the attainment of awards and prizes, however, Gellert  
Grindelwald devoted himself to other pursuits. At sixteen years old, even Drumstrang felt it  
could no longer turn a blind eye to the twisted experiments of Gellert Grindelwald, and he  
was expelled.

Hitherto, all that had been known of Grindelwald's next movement is that he "traveled  
abroad for some months." It can now be revealed that Grindelwald chose to visit his great-aunt  
in Godric's Hollow, and there, intensely shocking though it will be for many to hear it, he  
struck up a close friendship with none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"He seemed a charming boy to me," babbles Bathilda, "whatever he became later.  
Naturally I introduced him to poor Albus, who was missing the company of lads his own  
age. The boys took to each other at once."

They certainly did. Bathilda shows me a letter, kept by her, that Albus Dumbledore sent  
Gellert Grindelwarld in the dead of night.

"Yes, even after they'd spent all day in discussion-both such brilliant young boys, they  
got on like cauldron on fire-I'd sometimes hear an owl tapping at Gellart's bedroom window,  
delivering a letter from Albus! An idea would have struck him, and he had to let Gellert  
know immediately!"

And what ideas there were. Profoundly shocking though Albus Dumbeldore's fans will  
find it, here are the thoughts of their seventeen-year-old hero, as relaying to his new best  
friend. (A copy of the original letter may be seen on page 463.)

_Gellert-_

_Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES'  
OWN GOOD- this I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given  
power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us  
responsibility over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the  
foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we  
surely will be, this must be the basis of all out counterarguments. We  
seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that  
where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary  
and no more. This was your mistake at Drumstrang! But I do not complain,  
because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met."_

_Albus_

Astonished and appalled though his many admirers will be, this letter constitutes proof  
that Albus Dumbledore once dreamed of overthrowing the Statue of Secrecry and establishing  
Wizard rule over Muggles. What a blow for those who have always portrayed Dumbledore  
as the Muggle-borns' greatest champion! How hollow those speeches promoting Muggle  
rights seem in the light of this damning new evidence! How despicable does Albus Dumbeldore  
appear, busy plotting his rise to power when he should have been mourning his mother and  
caring for his sister!

No doubt those determined to keep Dumbledore on his crumbling pedestal will bleat  
that he did not, after all, put his plans into action, that he must have suffered a change of  
heart, that he came to his senses. However, the truth seems altogether more shocking.

Barely two months into their great new friendship, Dumbledore and Grindelwald parted,  
never to see each other again until they meet for their legendary duel (for more, see chapter  
22.) What caused this abrupt rupture? _Had _Dumbeldore come to his senses? Had he told  
Grindelwald he wanted no more part of his plan? Alas, no.

"It was poor Ariana dying, I think, that did it," says Bathilda. "It came as an awful shock.  
Gellert was there in the house when it happened, and he came back to my house all of a  
dither, told me he wanted to go home the next day. Terribly distressed, you know. So I  
arranged a Portkey and that was the last I saw of him.

"Albus was beside himself at Ariana's death. It was so dreadful for those two brothers.  
They had lost everybody except each other. No wonder tempers ran a little high. Aberforth  
blamed Albus, you know, as people will under these dreadful circumstances. But Aberforth  
always talked a little madly, poor boy. All the same, breaking Albus's nose at the funeral was  
not decent. It would have destroyed Kendra to see her sons fighting like that, across her  
daughter's body. A shame Gellert could not have stayed for the funeral...He would have  
been a comfort to Albus, at least..."

This dreadful coffin-side brawl, known only to those few who attended Ariana's  
Dumbledore funeral, raises several questions. Why exactly did Aberforth Dumbeldore blame  
Albus Dumbeldore for his sister's death? Was it, as "Batty" pretends, a mere effusion of grief?  
Or could there have been some more concrete reason for his fury? Grindelwald, expelled  
from Drumstrang for near-fatal attacks upon students, fled the country hours after the girl's  
death, and Albus (out of shame or fear?) never saw him again, not until forced to do so by  
pleas of the Wizarding world.

Neither Dumbledore nor Grindelwald ever seems to have referred to this brief boyhood  
friendship in later life. However, there can be no doubt that Dumbeldore delayed, for some  
five years of turmoil, fatalities, and disappearances, his attack upon Gellert Grindelwald.  
Was it lingering affection for the man or fear of exposure as his once best friend that caused  
Dumbeldore to hesitate? Was it only reluctantly that Dumbeldore set out to capture the man  
he once so delighted he had met?

And how did the mysterious Ariana die? Was she the inadvertent victim of some Dark rite?  
Did she stumble across something she ought not have done, as the two young men sat  
practicing for their attempt at glory and domination? Is it possible that Ariana Dumbeldore  
was the first person to die "for the greater good"?

The chapter ended here and Harry looked up. Hermione had reached the bottom of the page before him. She tugged the book out of Harry's hands, looking a little alarmed by his expression, and closed it without looking at it, as though hiding something indecent.

"Harry-"

But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbeldore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose? Ron, Dumbeldore, the phoenix wand... He needed to protect the only thing he had left Hermione. He flung himself at her, knocking the book down. Hermione laid there and hugged him back, caressing his messy, raven-black hair.

"I know this really hurts," she soothed. "The whole Dumbeldore giving Grindelwald the whole "For The Greater Good" idea, but even Rita can't pretend they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and-"

"Hermione look at us right now. We are young and yet here we are fighting the Dark Arts, not plotting our rise to power over Muggles like he did." said Harry, holding Hermione tighter, not wanting to unleash his fury on her.

"I know and I'm not trying to defend him, but his mother just died and he was all alone...

"Alone? He wasn't alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up-"

"Harry I don't think she was a Squib. Whatever her problem was I don't think she was a Squib. Dumbeldore wouldn't have let her-"

"The Dumbeldore we thought we knew didn't want to conquer Muggles by force," Harry said his voice rising. Hermione looked at Harry in the eye.

"Harry, he changed. It's as simple as that! Maybe he did believe these things when he was seventeen, but the whole rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! Dumbeldore was the one who stopped Grindelwald, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle-born rights, who fought You-Know-Who from the start, and who died trying to bring him down." she finished, but never took her eyes off of Harry's. 'Harry, I'm sorry but I think the real reason you're so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself."

"Maybe I am!" Harry whispered, letting Hermione go. He stood up. "Look what he asked from me, Hermione. Risk your life, Harry! And again, and again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing; trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!" Harry said flinging his arms. His voice cracked with the strain, and they stood looking at each other in the whiteness and emptiness, and Harry felt they were as insignificant as insects beneath the wide sky.

"He loved you," Hermione whispered. "I know he loved you." Harry dropped his arms.

"I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever did with me. Hermione if he really loved me, he would've told me everything. He would've left me with more things to work on than this." said Harry sitting down besides Hermione again.

She lightly brushed his head. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true; that Dumbeldore had really cared.

* * *

**AN: **Pretty short chapter. I agree with Harry, Dumbeldore should've told him many things. All well, can't change the past...well actually I can through fan fic but I won't. You see I think that JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter perfectly except for the last book. All of his struggles and everything and I also think that half-way through the seventh book she sort of messed up. Harry and Hermione were meant to be together. Everything else was just perfect.

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww_


	4. Chapter 4: The Silver Doe

**DISCLAIMER**_: Again I will like to state that I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. They all are JKs'. Well actually someone can't own someone but that's a whole other argument. So there not mine period._

_Noodles  
_Owwwwwww

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: The Silver Doe

Harry decided to take the first watch. He sat outside thinking about Dumbledore, his lies, his secrets. Harry tried not thinking but it didn't work. He placed his broken wand in his pouch, along with all the other useless things he had in there. A few minutes later, of what seemed hours to Harry, Hermione came out carrying a pillow, a blanket, a book, and some lotion. Harry looked at her curiously.

"What is that for?" Harry said helping Hermione put the stuff down.

"I thought that a good relaxing time is what you need. I mean it has been an emotional day. So what I want you to do is not talk, do as I say without questions and try forgetting about the every worry you have." Hermione said sitting Harry down.

"Er... Ok." Harry said not sure of what Hermione had planned. When she unbuttoned his pants, he thought they were going to do it, but Hermione just shook her head. He saw her murmur a spell, while pointing to her mouth and caught on to her plan. He relaxed as Hermione started blowing him. He didn't think of anything but things that made him happy.

When she was done, she buttoned his pants again, spread the blanket, put the pillow on top of it and signaled Harry to lay down. Before he could, Hermione took his shirt off. Harry laid face-down on the blanket. He saw Hermione take the book she brought and open it. It was _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ She put some lotion on her hands, got on Harry's butt and started massaging Harry, while reading Harry his favorite stories. Harry could feel his tension easing away at the voice of Hermione and at her touch. He found himself slowly drifting off to sleep.

Dinner time came and Hermione woke Harry up. He felt as good and refreshed as he did that morning.

"Um Harry we don't have food. All we have are cookies and milk." Hermione said a little disappointed. Harry sat up and hugged Hermione, burring his face on her hair.

"Thanks. That was exactly what I needed right now," he said not helping a few tears. He couldn't remember what he had done to deserve such a girlfriend as Hermione.

"Anytime. I don't like seeing you so stressed out," she said stroking his hair. Harry pulled away enough to see her face. Without warning he kissed Hermione intently. They were interrupted by the growling of Harry's stomach. Both started laughing their heads off.

"I think your stomach is growing a habit of interrupting us." Hermione said getting up.

"Yeah, and always at the good moments." Harry said putting his shirt on and helping Hermione put the things in the tent. Hermione went for the cookies and the milk. It seemed to be the last supplies of food. They sat down on the couch and ate while talking about their future; when the war was over and they could lead normal lives.

They would go back and finish the last school year. Then Harry and Hermione would become aurors. Then they were to have four children and they would live on the Potter Manor. (Harry had pointed out that his parent's must have lived somewhere a part from Godric's Hollow.) Hermione would become a working mom, while Harry became a stay home dad. He really wanted to be with his children all the time. They would get a few pet's for the children to play with. And they would live happily ever after as a huge happy family.

This time it was Harry who fell asleep on the couch dreaming peacefully until Nagini wove in and out of them, bringing darkness and grief. He woke up every time he saw her, convinced that somebody had called out to him in the distance, imagining that the wind whipping around the tent were footsteps or voices. Finally, he got up and joined Hermione, who was huddled in the entrance to the tent reading _A History of Magic_ by the light of her wand. The snow was falling thickly. Harry sat by her, reading a little before suggesting she should go to sleep. She kissed him good-bye before running off to sleep.

"We'll go somewhere more sheltered," Hermione said the next day as they were packing. "I kept thinking I could hear people moving outside. I even thought I saw somebody once or twice."

Harry paused in the act of pulling on a jumper and glanced at the silent, motionless Sneakoscope on the table.

"I'm sure I imagined it," said Hermione, looking nervous. "The snow in the dark, it plays tricks on your eyes...But perhaps we ought to Disapparate under the Invisibility Cloak, just in case?"

Half and hour later, with the tent packed, Harry wearing the Horcrux, and Hermione clutching the beaded bag, they Disapparated. The usual tightness engulfed them; Harry's feet parted company with the snowy ground, then slammed hard onto what felt like frozen earth covered with leaves.

"Where are we?" he asked, peering around at a fresh mass of trees as Hermione opened the beaded bag and began tugging out tent poles.

"Forest of Dean," she said. "I came camping with my mum and dad once."

Here too snow lay on the trees all around and it was bitterly cold, but they were at least protected from the wind. They spent most of the day inside the tent, huddled for warmth around the useful bright blue flames that Hermione was so adept as producing, and which could be scooped up and carried in a jar. They returned to their usual schedule of practicing and exercising, it helped them stay warm.

Once they were done with the routine, they laid in bed and slept. As nature would have it, it wasn't long before their clothes were off. Hermione once again was the one to murmur the spells and bring the condemn.

"When did you get these?" Harry asked opening it. He saw Hermione blush.

"I've had them for a while. They are the ones given to us in sex education." Harry gave out a soft chuckle before kissing her neck.

When they were done, they laid their hugging each other. Hermione was the first to brake the silence.

"I love the way our skins feel together," she said, tracing his muscles.

"I love the way our bodies fit perfectly," Harry said kissing her neck.

"I love the way you kiss me," she said kissing him on the shoulder.

"I love the way it feels when you kiss or touch me," He said going lower.

"I love the way your hair feels when I run my hands through it," she said running her hands through Harry's hair.

"No fair, I was going to say that." Harry said laughing. "I love the way that whenever we kiss or I whenever I touch you-you close your eyes."

"That I do," she said pulling his head toward hers. "But I love the way you taste and kiss." And they kissed passionately.

"Let me try to top that." Harry said breaking away. "I love the way you are. So brilliant, beautiful, honest, loyal, clever, nice, stubborn, and most of all you always try to do the right thing even if it may hurt." Hermione beamed at him.

"I love you Harry, more than I ever loved anything," she threw herself at him. When she finally calmed down Harry held her close to him. "Sorry, but no one ever said that to me. Everyone always made fun of me."

"It's alright. I'll take the first shift while you sleep," he said getting up.

"Wait stay until I'm asleep," Hermione said.

"Sure, anything for you," Harry said climbing back on. He pulled the covers over her and hugged her.

When she nodded off to sleep Harry climbed out and dressed. He had to wear layers, for it was very chilly. He scooped up some of Hermione's blue flame and went to the entrance of the tent. He decided to do some exercise. He was taking a break when a voice startled him.

"It's ok to take a break." He turned to see Hermione standing by the tent entrance holding two jars of blue flames. He walked to her.

"I like to be completely prepared for the future." He said pulling her down to the floor. She sat on his lap. "What woke you up?" He asked stroking her hair. Hermione closed her eyes before answering.

"My shift." was all she said before falling asleep on his arms. Harry smiled and kissed her on the forehead. He carried her back to the bed and pulled the covers over her. He left the two jars of flame on the stand. As he returned to the entrance of the tent, he saw the locket hanging on the foot of the bed where they had left it. He got it and sat down staring at it. He hated wearing it, it ruined his loved filled days with Hermione.

He was wearing many layers of clothing now that he wasn't going to exercise and had put on the pouch Hagrid had given him. The night reached such a depth of darkness that he might have been suspended in limbo between Disapparition and Apparition. He had just held up a hand in front of his face to see whether he could make out his fingers when it happened.

A bright silver light appeared right ahead of him, moving through the trees. Whatever the source, it was moving soundlessly. The light seemed simply to drift toward him.

He jumped to his feet, his voice frozen in his throat, and raised Hermoine's wand. He screwed up his eyes as the light became blinding, the trees in front of the pitch-black in silhouette, and still the thing came closer...

And then the source of the light stepped out from behind an oak. It was a silver doe, moon-bright and dazzling, picking her way over the ground, still silent, and leaving no hoof prints in the fine powdering of snow. She stepped toward him, her beautiful head with its wide, long -lashed eyes held high.

Harry stared at the creature, filled with wonder, not at her strangeness, but at her inexplicable familiarity. He felt that he had been waiting for her to come , but he had forgotten, until that moment, that they had arranged to meet. His impulse to shout for Hermione, which had been so strong a moment ago, had gone. He knew, he would have staked his life on it, that she had come for him, and him alone.

They gazed at each other for several long moments and then she turned and walked away.

"No," he said, "Come back!"

She continued to step deliberately through the trees, and soon her brightness was striped by her thick black trunks. For one trembling second he hesistated. Caution murmured it could be a trick, a lure, a trap. But instinct, overwhelming instinct, told him that this was not Dark Magic. He put the locket in his pocket and set off in pursuit.

Snow crunched beneath his feet, but the doe made no noise as she passed through the trees, for she was nothing but light. Deeper and deeper into the forest she led him to approach her properly. And then she would speak and the voice would tell him what he needed to know.

At last, she came to a halt. She turned her beautiful head toward him once more, and he broke into a run, a question burning in him, but as he opened his lips to ask, she vanished.

Though the darkness had swallowed her whole, her burnished image was imprinted on his retinas: it obscured his vision, brightening when she lowered his eyelids, disorienting him. Now fear came; Her presence had meant safety.

"_Lumos_!" he whispered, and the wand-tip ignited.

The imprint of the doe faded away with every blink of his eye as he stood there, listening to the sounds of the forest, to distant crackles of twigs, soft swishes of snow. Was he about to be attacked? Had she enticed him into an ambush? Was he imagining that somebody beyond the reach of wandlight, watching him?

He held the wand higher. Nobody ran out at him, no flash of green light burst from behind the tree. Why, then, had she led him to this spot?

Something gleamed in the light of the wand, and Harry spun about, but all that was there was a small, frozen pool, its cracked black surface glittering as he raised the wand higher to examine it.

He moved forward rather cautiously and looked down. The ice reflected his distorted shadow and the beam of the wand light, but deep below the thick, misty gray carapace, something else glinted. A great silver cross...

His heart skipped into his mouth. He dropped to his knees at the pool's edge and angled the wand so as to flood the bottom of the pool with as much light as possible. A glint of deep red...It was a sword with glittering rubies in its hilt...The sword of Gryffindor was lying at the bottom of the forest pool.

Barely breathing, he stared down at it. How was it possible? How could it have come to be lying in the forest pool, this close to the place where they were camping? Had some unknown magic drawn Hermione to this spot, or was the doe, which he had taken to be a Patronus, some kind of guardian of the pool? Or had the sword been put into the pool after they had arrived, precisely because they were here? In which case, where was the person who had wanted to pass it to Harry? Again he directed his wand at the surrounding trees and bushes, searching for a human outline, for the glint of an eye, but he could not see anyone there. All the same, a little more fear leavened his exhilaration as he returned his attention to the sword reposing upon the bottom of the frozen pool.

He pointed the wand at the silvery shape and murmured, "_Accio Sword."_

It did not stir. He did not expect it to. If it had been that easy, the sword would have lain on the ground for him to pick up, not in the depths of a frozen pool. He set off around the circle of ice, thinking hard about the last time the sword had delivered itself to him. He had been in terrible danger then, and had asked for help.

"Help," he murmured, but the sword remained upon the pool bottom, indifferent, motionless.

What was it, Harry asked himself (walking again), that Dumbledore had told him the last time he retrieved the sword? _Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat?_And what were the qualities that defined a Gryffindor? A small voice inside Harry's head answered him: _Their daring, __nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindor apart._

Harry stopped walking and let out a long sigh, his smoky breath dispersing rapidly upon the frozen air. He knew what he had to do. If he was honest with himself, he had thought it might come to this from the moment he had spotted the sword through the ice.

He glanced around at the surrounding trees again, but was convinced now that nobody was going to attack him. They had had their chance as he walked alone through the forest, had had plenty of opportunity as he examined the pool. The only reason to delay at this point was because the immediate prospect was so deeply uninviting.

With fumbling fingers Harry started to remove his many layers of clothing. Where "chivalry" entered into this, he thought ruefully, he was not entirely sure, unless it counted as chivalrous that he was not calling for Hermione to do it in his stead.

An owl hooted somewhere as he stripped off, and he thought with a pang of Hedwig. He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear, barefooted in the snow. He placed the pouch containing his wand, his mother's letter, the shard of Sirius's mirror, and the old Snitch on top of his clothes, then he pointed Hermione's wand at the ice.

"_Diffindo."_

It cracked with a sound like a bullet in the silence. The surface of the pool broke and chunks of dark ice rocked on the ruffled water. As far as Harry could judge, it was not deep, but to retrieve the sword he would have to submerge himself completely.

Contemplating the task ahead would not make it easier or the water warmer. He stepped to the pool's edge and placed Hermione's wand on the ground, still lit. Then, trying not to imagine how much colder he was about to become or how violently he would soon be shivering, he jumped.

Every pore of his body screamed in protest. The very air in his lungs seemed to freeze solid as he was submerged to his shoulders in the frozen water. He could hardly breathe; trembling so violently the water lapped over the edges of the pool., he felt the blade with his numb feet. He only wanted to dive once.

He put off the moment of total submersion from second to second, gasping and shaking, until he told himself that it must be done, gathering all his courage, and dived.

The cold was agony. It attacked him like fire. His brain itself seemed to have frozen as he pushed through the dark water to the bottom and reached out, groping for the sword. His fingers closed around the hilt; he pulled it upward.

He emerged freezing but victorious. He climbed out of the pool, and felt someone hand him a blanket. He pulled it around himself, drying himself with it a swell. Thinking it was Hermione, he began to change.

"I don't know how it got there, but I got it out," he said. He heard, whom he thought was Hermione, move and noticed that the footsteps were heavier than hers. He slowly began to turn around, afraid of whom he might encounter. Standing there was Ron, the leaver, the one who made Hermione cry so many times, the one spoil brat. He expected anyone but him, even Voldemort though it wasn't likely.

"Hey," Ron said, studying Harry's reaction. Harry was rooted there, not knowing if he should be angry or sad or happy. He just stared at Ron.

"Err.. I know that I err.. look what I did was very..."

"Stop talking please," Harry said finally knowing what to do. "I'm tired of your excuses and whining and I'm not going to put up with it anymore." He finished putting on his final layers of clothing on.

"I'm sorry, please just give me another chance."

"For what to walk out on us again. I gave you so many chances Ron, I was very patient with you and this is what I get," He said giving the blanket back. "You made her suffer so much. She shed so many tears for you, and I vowed not to let you hurt her again," Harry said picking up the sword.

"I know I'm not the best of friends but I promise you I can change. I can..."

"No Ron, it's been seven years and your still the same Ron, bratty, jerk, always envious of what you can't have," Harry said making sure he had the locket. "Hermione was more of a friend even when we ignored her than you ever were."

"Ok I deserve that I guess. It's just that..."

"You're blind Ron. BLIND! You have a terrific life with a loving family, and food on the table every day, AND," Harry said when Ron tried to interrupt him. "a warm bed to curl up every night. A place to call home."

"We don't have the money to..."

"Fuck the money, Ron. FUCK it." Harry said flinging his arms. "It does not compasate for an abuse childhood. A childhood of running, of starvation, of pain. I was not loved Ron but look at me do I complain? No. I suck it up. Do I live the life of the rich now that I do have money? No. I try to share it with everyone. I DON'T COMPLAIN WHEN I DON'T GET WHAT I WANT!" Harry yelled, pounding the air. Ron stood there, dumbstruck.

"But you, you who have it all complain when someone looks at you weirdly, when you don't get what you want. I'm sick of it, I'm not going to put up with it any longer." He finally said trying to catch his breath.

"What does Hermione have to say for this?" Ron said grasping at straws.

"She agrees with me. You made her suffer so much, Ron, even when you were nice. You insulted her constantly and without provocation, but that will change. That will stop. I feel stupid and retarded every time I think of how I let you walk all over her like that," Harry said, an anger tear fell.

They stood there for a few moments staring at each other. Ron broke the silence. "I've done some thinking..."

"Did it hurt?"

"Just hear me out ok," Ron said, his voice a little impatient. Harry nodded. "I want to help really. It's the locket it made me think things. Things I already thought of but it made it worse."

"Ron this is a war. A FUCKING WAR! Get it through you your puny brain. It's not like before were it all turned alright at the end of the day. We need people to rely on, who actually can stand being isolated, who man up when the time comes. You have shown otherwise. I understand that your used to being pampered and that this is a huge way from home, but it's been seven years. If seven years of danger and near-death experiences can't change you then what will."

"I will. I can. I promise I just need another chance, please. I don't deserve it I know and I don't expect it to be like it used to but please one more chance." Ron said looking at him desperate. Harry thought about it. He really didn't want Ron to go, he wanted to believe him and there was only one way to find out. Harry took out the locket from his pocket. Ron backed away from it.

"Let's see how much you can actually handle. I want you to destroy," Harry said pushing the sword to Ron. Ron shook his vigorously.

"I can't. That thing affects me worse than you guys. I'm not making excuses I swear I just can't face it," Ron said his face showed panic and fear.

"You can and you will or else you'll show that you haven't changed at all. Ron I know you can do it," Harry said pushing the sword into Ron's hands. Ron stood staring at it as if it would attack him. Harry took out Hermione's wand and said "_Lumos._" The ornate silver sword shone, it's rubied hilt glinting a little at the light of Hermione's wand.

Harry placed the locket in flattish rock under a sycamore tree. Harry brushed some snow off of it before placing it on the rock. He turned to Ron, whom was still standing in the same spot.

"Come on Ron, you need to do this. To prove yourself that you have changed," Harry said walking toward Ron. He looked him in the eye. "You can do this." Ron nodded slowly, and followed Harry to the rock.

"How are you going to open it?" He asked his voice faltering.

"I have an idea. On the count of three I'll ask it to open in Parseltongue and you stab it immediately." He said holding the locket. It was shaking, it's little hurt beating faster and harder than before; knowing it's death was near. Ron shook his head. Harry stared at the letter _S_ imagining it was a real serpent.

"One...Two...Three _open._" The last word came as a hiss and a snarl and the golden doors of the locket swung wide with a little click. Behind both glass windows within blinked a living eye, dark and handsome as Tom Riddle's eyes had been before he turned them scarlet and slit-pupilid.

Ron raised his the sword, ready to stab. Harry braced himself already imagining blood pouring out.

Then a voice hissed from out the Horocrux.

_"I have seen your heart, and it is mine."_

"Don't listen to it!" Harry said harshly. "Stab it!"

_"I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible..."_

"STAB!" shouted Harry; his voice echoed off the surrounding trees, the sword pointed trembled, and Ron gazed down into Riddle's eyes.

_"Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter...Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers you friend...Second best, always, eternally overshadowed..."_

"Ron, stab it now!" Harry bellowed. He could feel the locket quivering in his grip and was scared of what was coming. Ron raised the sword still higher, and as he did so, Riddle's eyes gleamed scarlet.

Out of the locket's two windows, out of the eyes, there bloomed like two grotesque bubbles, the heads of Harry and Hermione, weirdly distorted.

Ron yelled in shock and backed away as the figures blossomed out of the locket, first chests, then waists, then legs, until they stood in the locket, side by side like trees with a common root, swaying over Ron and the real Harry, who had snatched his fingers away from the locket as it burned, suddenly, white-hot.

"Ron!" he shouted, but the Riddle-Harry was now speaking with Voldemort's voice and Ron was gazing, mesmerized, into his face.

_"Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence...We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption-"_

_"Presumption!" _echoed the Riddle-Hermione, who was more beautiful and yet more terrible than the real Hermione. She swayed, cackling, before Ron, who looked horrified yet transfixed, the sword hanging pointlessly at his side. _"Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Harry __Potter? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you compared with the Boy Who Lived?"_

"Ron, stab it, STAB IT!" Harry yelled, but Ron did not move. His eyes wide, and the Riddle-Harry and the Riddle-Hermione were reflected in them, their hair swirling like flames, their eyes shining red, their voices lifted in the evil duet.

_"Your mother confessed,"_ sneered Riddle-Harry, while Riddle-Hermione jeered, _"that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange..."_

_"Who wouldn't prefer him, what woman would take you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him,"_ crooned Riddle-Hermione, and she stretched like a snake and entwined herself around Riddle-Harry, wrapping him in a close embrace: Their lips met.

On the ground in front of him, Ron's face filled with anguish. He raised the sword high, his arms shaking.

"Do it, Ron!" Harry yelled.

Ron looked toward him, and Harry thought he saw a trace of scarlet in his eyes.

"RON-"

The sword flashed, plunging. Harry threw himself out of the way, there was a clang of metal and a long, drawn-out scream. Harry whirled around, slipping in the snow, wand held ready to defend himself; but there was nothing to fight.

The monstrous versions of himself and Hermione were gone. There was only Ron standing there with the sword held slackly in his hand, looking down at the shattered remains of the locket on the flat rock.

Slowly, Harry walked back to him, hardly knowing what to say or do. Ron was breathing heavily: His eyes were no longer red at all, but their normal blue; they were also wet.

Harry stooped, pretending he had not seen, and picked up the broken Horocrux. Ron had pierced the glass in both windows. Riddle's eyes were gone, and the stained silk lining of the locket was smoking slightly. The thing that had lived in the Horocrux had vanished; torturing Ron had been it's final act.

The sword clangs as Ron dropped it. He had sunk into his knees, his head in his arms. He was shaking, but not, Harry realized, from cold. Harry crammed the broken locked into his pocket, knelt down and picked up the sword. He put it a good distance from Ron.

"Ron," Harry started. They locked eyes for a few brief intense seconds. "Hermione has been there for me ever since we became friends. She understands me at a level that not even I do. It's as if..."

"I knew this would happen, I dreaded it in fact," said Ron, as he knelt frozen on the ground. "I always knew she loved you but I didn't think you would love her." Ron got up and stared at Harry in the eye. "I went after her because I thought you wouldn't. I knew that if you ever did however there would be no use for me to pursue her. She would choose you because Riddle-Hermione is right. Who would choose me over you? What have I done compared to the great Harry Potter?" Harry didn't expect this, he expected Ron to come after him.

"You helped me..."

"No I didn't. All I ever did was complain and hold you back." Ron said, in a depressed tone.

"She doesn't have to be right Ron. You can change, the first step is admitting you faults, the second was killing the one thing you dreaded." Ron stood looking at the broken locket. There was something in his eyes that Harry had never seen before.

"You're right. Like I said, I had thought long and hard about it and I will change. Maybe if I hadn't acted so spoiled I would've had a chance, but given the circumstances it seems as if I it for myself. Harry I care for her and I always will."

Simultaneously they walked forward and hugged. Harry couldn't believe how much truly had change. They pulled away.

"I can never make up for leaving you twice. I can only try to salvage what's left." Ron said looking down.

"Welcome back, Ron." Harry said patting his back.

"What about Ginny? She's still my sister."

"I'll break it to her. I'll make her see that what we had wasn't love. It was a fairy tale, a hollow one." Harry said picking up Ron's bag. Ron just nodded and started walking.

They silently began searching for the tent, which wasn't hard to find. They stopped in front of the entrance, next to the blue fire.

"What is this?" Ron said picking it up.

"It'll keep you warm. I think it's best if you stay out here 'till the morning. Until I have to time to calm her down." Harry said, giving Ron his bag back. Ron nodded.

"Night then,"

"Night." Harry said entering. He walked to Hermione's sleeping figure. He stripped down to his boxers and climbed in with her. He pulled her to him, loving they way she came without having to use much force. He kissed her in the head and said, "I love you Hermione. I can't believe I almost missed this." She stirred around and kissed him in the chest.


	5. Chapter 5: Xenophilius Lovegood

I just wrote Hermione's realization. Might want to read it. Whatever it's up to you. I tried writing this as fast as possible.

**DISCLAIMER:** _Once again I would like to point out that blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. They all blah blah blah blah. I don't know if I have to write this every time. Doesn't blah blah blah blah blah._

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww _

Chapter Twenty: Xenophilius Lovegood

Harry was awaken the next day by shouts. He immediately knew who was shouting. He rapidly put on his clothes and ran outside. There he saw Hermione beating Ron to a pulp. He grabbed on to Hermione and pulled her away. She was kicking and screaming, cursing at both of them.

"How _dare_ you take his side? Let me go!" She said fighting Harry.

"Hermione you have to calm down." He said holding on tighter.

"Don't you Hermione me. That arse finally crawls back after months Harry MONTHS!" She yelled throwing Ron a dirty look.

"Yes, I understand but you..."

"DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT TO DO HARRY JAMES POTTER! WHERE'S MY WAND!" She yelled, biting Harry. He let go but regretted. Hermione shot up and was chasing Ron now.

"Help, Harry. Do something," Ron said running full speed. They ran around the tent enclosure. Harry ran to the tent got Hermione's wand and shot back out. He aimed at the exact moment Hermione was about to jump on Ron and said, "_Protego."_

The invisible shield erupted between Ron and Hermione. She crashed with the wall throwing her back.

"Ow. Harry that hurts," Harry ran toward her.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to stop you from killing Ron is all," He said rubbing her head.

"Give me my wand Harry. Give it to me now! And YOU!" She said pointing at Ron in dire accusation. It was like a malediction, and Harry could not blame Ron from retreating several steps. Never before had he seen her lose control like this; she looked quite demented. "I came running after you! I called _you_! I begged you to come back!"

"I know," Ron said, "Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm really-"

"Oh you're _sorry!_" She laughed, a high-pitched, out-of-control sound; Ron looked at Harry for help, but Harry grimaced his helplessness.

"You come back after weeks-_weeks_-and you think it's all going to be alright if you say _sorry_?'

"Well, what can I say?" Ron shouted, and Harry instinctively pointed his wand at him; giving him an apologetic look as he then lowered it.

"You'll be more than sorry if I ever get my hands on you," Hermione said, getting up.

"Hermione calm down please," Harry said holding her back.

"I WILL NOT!" Hermione yelled, struggling to get free. "Weeks and weeks, we could have been _dead_ for all you knew-"

"I knew you weren't dead!" Ron bellowed. Harry stepped forward but Ron gave him an apologetic look. "Harry's all over the _Prophet_, all over the radio, they're looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I'd hear straight off if you were dead, you don't know what it's been like-"

"What it's been like for _you_?" Her voice was now shrill only bats would be able to hear it soon, but she had reached a level of indignation that rendered her temporarily speechless, and Ron seized his opportunity.

"I wanted to come back the minute I'd Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn't go anywhere!"

"A gang of what?" asked Harry, pulling Hermione down with him and sitting her on his lap. He started running his fingers through her hair. She grabbed on to him tightly but Harry ignored the pain. Ron looked a little uncomfortable at the sight.

"Snatchers," said Ron. "They're everywhere-gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggle-borns and blood traitors, there's a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. I was on my own and I look like I might be school age; they got really excited, thought I was a Muggle-born in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry"

"What did you tell them?"

"Told them I was Stan Shunpike. First person I could think of."

"And they believed that?"

"They weren't the brightest. One of them was definitely part troll, the smell of him..." Ron glanced at Hermione but her face stayed hidden in Harry's chest. Harry shrugged.

"Anyway, they had a row about whether I was Stan or not. It was a bit pathetic to be honest, but there was still five of them and only one of me and they'd taken my wand. Then two of them got into fight and while the others were distracted I managed to hit the one holding my stomach, grabbing his wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine, and Disapparated. I didn't do it so well, Splinched myself again"- Ron held up his right hand to show two missing fingernails; Hermione turned around and stared at him coldly, eyebrows raised-"and I come out miles from where your were. By the time I got back to that bit of riverbank where we'd been...you'd gone."

"Gosh, what a gripping story," Hermione said in a lofty voice she adopted when wishing to wound. "You must have been simply terrified. Meanwhile we went to Godric's Hollow and, let's think, what happened there, Harry?" She asked looking at him. "Oh yes, You-Know-Who's snake turned up, it nearly killed both of us, and then You-Know-Who himself arrived and missed up by about a second."

"What?" Ron said, gaping at her to Harry, but Hermione ignored him.

"Imagine losing fingernails, Harry! That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn't it?"

"Hermione," said Harry quietly. "Ron has changed."

She appeared not to have heard him.

"One thing I would like to know though," she said, fixing her eyes on a spot a foot over Ron's head. "How exactly did you find us tonight? That's important. Once we know, we'll be able to make sure we're not visited by anyone else we don't want to see."

Ron looked down, then pulled a small silver object from his jeans pocket.

"This."

She had to look at Ron to see what he was showing them.

"The Deluminator?" she asked, so surprised she forgot to look cold and fierce.

"It doesn't just turn lights on and off," said Ron. "I don't know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I've been wanting to come back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio really early on Christmas morning and I heard...I heard you." He was looking at Hermione.

"You heard me on the radio?" she asked incredulously.

"No, I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice," he held up the Deluminator again, "came out of this."

"And exactly what did I say?" asked Hermione, her tone somewhere between skepticism and curiosity.

"My name. 'Ron.' And you said...something about a wand..."

Hermione turned a fiery shade of scarlet. Harry remembered: It had been the first time Ron's name had been said aloud by either of them since the day he left; Hermione had mentioned it when talking about repairing Harry's wand. He kissed her on neck to show her, he was over it.

Ron ignored this exchange. "So I took it out and it didn't seem different or anything, but I was sure I'd heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside the window."

Ron raised his empty hand and pointed in front of him, his eyes focused on something neither Harry nor Hermione could see.

"It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like that light you get around a Portkey, you know?"

"Yeah," said Harry and Hermione together automatically.

"I knew this was it," said Ron. "I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went out into the garden. The little ball of light was hovering there, waiting for me, and when I came out it bobbed along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then it...well, it went inside me."

"Sorry?" said Harry, sure he had not heard correctly.

"It sort of floated toward me," said Ron, illustrating the movement with his free index finger, "right to my chest, and then-it just went straight through. It was here," he touched a pointed close to his heart, "I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where we needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere..."

"We were there," said Harry. "We spent two nights there, and the second night I kept thinking I could hear someone moving around in the dark and calling out!"

"Yeah, well, that would've been me," said Ron. "Your protective spells work, anyway, because I couldn't see you and I couldn't hear you. I was sure you were around, though, so in the end I got in my sleeping bag and waited for one of you to appear. I thought you'd have to show yourselves when you packed up the tent."

"No actually," said Hermione. "We've been Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloaks an extra precaution. And we left really early, because, as Harry says, we'd heard somebody blundering around."

"Well, I stayed on that hill the whole day," said Ron. "I kept hoping you'd appear. But when it started getting dark I knew I must have missed you, so I clicked the Deluminator again, the blue light came out and went inside me, and I Disapparated and arrived here in these woods. I still couldn't see you, so I just had to hope one of you would show yourselves in the end-and Harry did. Well, I saw the doe first, obviously."

"You saw what?" said Hermione sharply.

They explained what had happened, and as the story of the silver doe and the sword in the pool unfolded, Hermione frowned from one to the other, concentrating.

"But it must have been a Patronus!" she said. "Couldn't you see who was casting it? Didn't you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can't believe this! Then what happened?"

Ron explained how he had watched Harry jump into the pool and he waited for him to resurface; when he did he covered him with a blanket, then he resided their conversation, much to Harry's surprise, and told the whole Horocrux story.

"And... and it went? Just like that?' she whispered.

"Well, it-screamed," said Harry with half a glance at Ron. "Here."

He took out the locket and gave it to her. Gingerly, she picked it up and examined the punctured windows. Deciding that it was safe to do so, Harry removed the Shield Charm with a wave of Hermione's wand and turned to Ron.

"Did you say you got away from the Snatchers with a spare wand?"

"What?" said Ron, watching Hermione examine the locket. "Oh-oh yeah."

He tugged open the buckle on his rucksack and pulled a short, dark wand out of its pocket. 'Here. I figured it's always handy to have a backup."

"You were right," said Harry, holding out his hand. "Mine's broken."

"You're kidding?" Ron said.

"No, are you tired?" Harry asked.

"A bit," Ron replied yawning.

"Why don't you go to sleep? We'll fill you in later," Harry said getting up. Hermione got up as well. Ron passed the new wand to Harry.

"Alright, night then." he said walking in the tent.

"Just don't use our bed, the one on the far left corner," Harry said looking at Ron's reaction. He seemed unchanged, yet Harry knew the question must've been burning inside. He just nodded and went inside.

Harry turned to Hermione. "How are you feeling?" He said walking toward her.

"I don't know. I wasn't ready for it to tell the truth." She said sighing. Harry hugged her.

"I know you'll find a way to forgive him."

"Why did you do it so easily?"

"I didn't, I accepted him with one condition. He stop being such a spoiled brat," Harry said smiling. He looked at Hermione and saw faint smile appear. "As I much as I hate to admit it, I need him Hermione. He was my first friend and well everyone deserves a chance."

"I know. I sometimes wish I was your first friend," she said sitting down. Harry followed suit. They sat their hugging each other.

"I didn't think he would tell you what I told him." Harry said, awhile later.

"You did the right thing, as much as I hate to admit it. I hope he matures too. I guess we have to take down a notch, now that we have company," she said kissing him. Harry kissed her back.

After they were done he said, "Yeah, that's going to be hard." He said kissing her again. This time Hermione's stomach growled. Harry laughed his arse off. "This time it was you not me." He said getting up. He summons some cans of food and spell books. The new wand felt weird and strange. He didn't like it and preferred his wand or Hermione's at least.

Ron came out later in the afternooon. Harry stopped training and went with Ron, while Hermione pretended not to notice him.

"What are you doing?"

"We've been practicing spells. Working with accuracy and force. It helps to be prepared when I have to face You-Know-Who."

"How did you find out about the Taboo?" he asked Harry.

"The what?"

"You and Hermione have stopped saying You-Know-Who's name!"

"Oh yeah. Well, it's just a bad habit we've slipped into," said Harry. "But I haven't got a problem calling him V-"

"NO!" roared Ron, causing Harry to jump and drop some of Ron's food. Hermione looked over for a minute before continuing on. "Sorry," said Ron. "but the name's been jinxed, Harry, that's how they track people! Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance-it's how they found us in Tottenhan Court Road!"

"Because we used his _name_?"

"Exactly! You've got to give him credit, it makes sense. It was only people who were serious about standing up to him, like Dumbledore, who ever dared use it. Now they've put a Taboo on it, anyone who says it is trackable-quick-and-easy way to find Order members! They nearly got Kingsley-"

"You're kidding?"

"Yeah, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him. Bill said, but he fought his way out. He's on the run now, just like us." Ron scratched his chin thoughtfully with the end of his wand. "You don't reckon Kingsley could have sent the doe?"

"His Patronus is a lynx, we saw it at the wedding, remember?"

"Oh yeah..."

"Harry... you don't reckon it could've been Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore what?" Harry said giving Ron his can of food.

Ron looked a little embarrassed, but said in a low voice, "Dumbledore...the doe? I mean," Ron was watching Harry out of the corner of his eyes, "he had the real sword last, didn't he?"

Harry did not laugh at Ron, because he understood too well the longing behind the question. The idea that Dumbledore had managed to come back to them, that he was watching over them, would have been inexpressibly comforting. He shook his head.

"Dumbledore's dead," he said. "I saw it happen, I saw the body. He's definitely gone. Anyway, his Patronus was a phoenix, not a doe."

"Patronuses can change, though, can't they?" said Ron. "Tonks's changed didn't it?"

"Yeah, but if Dumbledore was alive, why wouldn't he show himself? Why wouldn't he just hand us the sword?"

"Search me," said Ron. "Same reason he didn't give it to you while he was alive? Same reason he left you an old snitch and Hermione a book of kid's stories?"

"Which is what?" asked Harry, turning to look Ron full in the face, desperate for the answer.

"I dunno," said Ron. "Sometimes I've thought, when I've been a bit hacked off, he was having a laugh or-or he just wanted to make it more difficult. But I don't think so, not anymore. He knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn't he? He-well," Ron's ears turned bright red, "he must've know I'd run out on you."

"No," Harry corrected him. "He must've known you'd always want to come back."

Hermione appeared after Ron was done. "How's the new wand." She said sitting beside Harry. Harry turned around and kissed Hermione.

Ron came back and shook his head.

"It's not so great. It feels intrusively unfamiliar," He said sighing.

"It's all a matter of confidence." she said laying down with a book. Harry knew why she wanted it to be all right. She still felt guilty about breaking the wand.

"I still don't want to practice with it," Harry said flicking the wand.

"Let's alternate when we are practicing then." she suggested.

"Alright." The rest of the afternoon, Harry and Ron talked. Harry told Ron about his and Hermione's various wanderings, right up to the full story of what had happened at Godric's Hollow. Ron started filling Harry on everything he discovered about the wider Wizarding world during his weeks away. It was night time by the time they both finished. Ron went inside to get the food. Harry looked at the laying figure of Hermione. It seemed she hadn't moved all day. Harry crawled toward her.

"Hey, I know you heard every word Ron said," He said kissing her on the neck. Hermione giggled.

"Was I that bad?" She asked turning around.

"No, I just know you to well," He said busying himself with her.

A few minutes later Ron came out to find them kissing and touching. He made a face and turned around.

"Shall we go inside?" Harry asked, when finished.

"I guess. I really would like to stay here with you," she said laughing. Harry smiled and carried her up. He carried her into the tent.

Hermione giggled and said, "Don't you have to wait 'till we're married to do that?"

"I can do whatever I want with you," Harry said dropping her on the bed.

"Says who?" she asked giggling.

"I am the chosen one," Harry said, chuckling. Hermione rolled her eyes at him playfully. Harry kissed her before walking toward the kitchen, where Ron was. Ron held out the food cans he had opened.

"Thanks." Harry said taking one for him and Hermione.

"You guys look good together." Ron said looking down. There was an awkward silence between them.

"I didn't ask before but did you hear anything but anyone we know? Anyone...dead?" Harry asked timidly.

"Not that I know of," Ron said looking at his can. Harry placed his hand on Ron's shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

"It'll all be over soon," Harry said reassuredly. Ron nodded and gave a weak smile.

"Shall we then." Ron said walking to the table. Hermione was already there reading her book.

"Here you are Hermione," Harry said passing her-her can of food.

"Thanks." She returned to her book not noticing Ron there. Harry shrugged and turned to his food.

"I was thinking you should start training tomorrow," Harry said to Ron.

"Ok, how long until we go hunting for Horocrux?" He replied taking out a box. Harry was surprised that Ron didn't complain or try to talk himself out of it. He turned to Hermione, whom was also surprised, even though she only looked up for a second. Harry turned to Ron who was tapping and murmuring random words. Harry noticed that the box looked like a radio.

"What are you doing?" Harry said surprised.

"There's this one program that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on You-Know-Who's side and are following the Ministry line, but this one...you wait till you hear it, it's great. Only they can't do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they're raided, and you need a password to tune in...Trouble is, I missed the last one. You didn't answer my question." He said drumming lightly on the top of the radio. He threw Hermione many covert glances, plainly fearing an angry outburst, but for all the notice she took of him he might not have been there.

"I say a month to train you up. Not to our level but close enough." Harry said. And so, for ten minutes or so Ron muttered, Hermione turned the pages of her book, and Harry sat there waiting.

Hermione finally looked up and turned to Harry.

"If it's annoying you, I'll stop!" He told Hermione nervously.

Hermione did not deign to respond, but kept eye contact with Harry.

"We need to talk," she said. She slid the book to him. Harry turned to the cover and saw it was _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_.

"What?" he said apprehensively. It flew through his mind that there was a chapter on him in there; he was not sure he felt up to hearing Rita's version of his relationship with Dumbledore. Hermione's answer, however, was completely unexpected.

"I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood."

He stared at her.

"Sorry?"

"Xenophilius Lovegood. Luna's father. I want to go and talk to him!"

"Er-why?"

She took in a deep breath, as though bracing herself, and said, "It's the mark, the mark in _Beedle the Bard_. Look at this!" She pointed to the letter. Harry looked at it unwillingly and saw a photograph of the original letter that Dumbledore had written Grindelwald, with Dumbledore's familiar thin, slanting handwriting. He hated seeing absolute proof that Dumbledore had written those words, that they had not been Rita's invention.

"The signature," said Hermione. "Look at the signature, Harry!"

He obeyed. For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about it, but, looking more closely with the aid of his lit wand, he saw that Dumbledore had replaced the _A _of Albus with a tiny version of the same triangular mark inscribed upon _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

"Er-what are you-?" said Ron tentatively, but Hermione quelled him with a look and turned back to Harry.

"It keeps cropping up, doesn't it?" she said. "I know Viktor said it was Grindelwald's mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric's Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can't ask Dumbledore or Grindelwald what it means-I don't even know whether Grindelwald's still alive-but we can ask Mr. Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I'm sure this is important Harry!"

Harry did not answer immediately. He looked into her intense, eager face and then at the mark, thinking. After a lone pause he said, "Hermione we don't need another Godric's Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and-"

"But it keeps appearing, Harry! Dumbledore left me _The Tales of Beedle the Bard, _how do you know we're not supposed to find out about the sign?"

"Here we go again!" Harry felt slightly exasperated. "We keep trying to convince ourselves Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues-"

"The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful," piped up Ron. "I think Hermione's right, I think we ought to go and see Lovegood."

Harry threw him a dirty look. He was quite sure that Ron's support of Hermione had little to do with a desire to know the meaning of the triangular rune.

"It won't be like Godric's Hollow," Ron added, "Lovegood's on your side, Harry, _The Quibbler's_ been for you all along, it keeps telling everyone they've got to help you!"

"I'm sure this is important!" said Hermione earnestly.

"But you don't think if it was, Dumbledore would have told me about it before he died?"

"Maybe...Maybe it's something you need to out for yourself," said Hermione with a faint air of clutching at straws.

"Yeah," said Ron sycophantically, "that makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," snapped Hermione, "but I still think we ought to talk to. A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Godric's Hollow? Harry," she moved onto Harry's lap. "I'm sure we ought to know about this!" Harry looked away from her hypnotic, pleading eyes.

"I think we should vote on it," said Ron. "Those in favor of going to see Lovegood-"

His hand flew into the air before Hermione's. Her lips quivered suspiciously as she raised her own.

"Outvoted, Harry, sorry," said Ron, clapping him on the back.

"Fine," said Harry, half amused, half irritated. "Where do the Lovegoods live, anyway? Do either of you know?"

"Yeah, they're not far from our place," said Ron. "I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point towards the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn't be hard to find."

Hermione gave Harry a kiss before getting off and throwing her can away.

"You only agreed to try and get back in her good books," Harry whispered, when she was away.

"Cheer up, it's the Christmas holidays!" Ron said cheerfully.

They had an excellent view of the village of Ottery St. Catchpole from the breezy hillside to which they Disapparated next morning. From their high vantage point the village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great slanting shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between clouds. They stood for a minute or two looking toward the Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes.

"It's weird, being this near, but not going to visit," said Ron.

"Well, it's not like you haven't seen them. You were there for Christmas," said Hermione coldly.

"I wasn't at the Burrow!" said Ron with an incredulous laugh. "Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I'd walked out on you. Yeah, Fred and George would've been great about it. And Ginny, she'd have been really understanding."

"But where have you been, then?" said Hermione, surprised.

"Bill and Fleur's new place. Shell Cottage. Bill's always been decent to me. He-he wasn't impressed when he heard what I'd done, but he didn't go on about it. He knew I was really sorry. None of rest of the family knew I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren't going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday when they were married. I don't think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warback."

Ron turned his back on the Burrow.

"Let's try up here," he said, leading the way over the top of the hill.

They walked for hours, Harry, at Hermione's insistence, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. The cluster of low hills, appeared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.

"Do you think it's theirs, and they've gone away for Christmas?" said Hermione, peering through at the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the windowsill. Ron snorted.

"Listen, I've got a feeling you'd be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods' window. Let's try the next lot of hills." Harry nudged Hermione on the ribs, softly. She seemed not to catch on. They disapparated a few miles farther north.

"Aha!" shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. "That's got to be Luna's house, who else would live in a place like that?," Harry stifled a laugh. "It looks like a giant rook!"

"It's nothing like a bird." said Hermione, frowning at the tower.

"I was talking about a chess rook," said Ron. "A castle to you."

Ron's legs were the longest and he reached the top of the hill first. When Harry and Hermione caught up to him, panting and clutching stitches in their sides, they found him grinning broadly.

"It's theirs," said Ron, "Look."

Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broken-down gate. The first read:

**THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR: X. LOVEGOOD**

the second:

**PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE**

the third:

**KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS**

The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in the orange radishlike fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings. Harry thought he recognized a Snargaluff and gave the wizened stump a wide berth. Two aged crab apple trees, bent with the wind, stripped of leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white-beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the door. A little owl with a slightly flattened, hawklike head peered down at them from one of the branches.

"You'd better take off the Invisibility Cloak," said Hermione. "It's you Mr. Lovegood wants to help, not us."

He did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. She then rapped tree times on the thick black door,, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.

Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophilius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt. Xenophilius had been positively dapper at Bill and Fleur's wedding by comparison.

"What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?" he cried in a high-pitched, querulous voice, looking first at Ron, then at Hermione, and finally to who Hermione was holding hands with Harry, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical O.

"Hello, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, holding out his other hand. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

Xenophilius did not take Harry's hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Would it be okay if we came in?" asked Harry. "There's something we'd like to ask you."

"I...I'm not sure that's advisable," whispered Xenophilius. He swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. "Rather a shock...My word...I...I'm afraid I don't really think I ought to-"

"It won't take long," said Harry, slightly disappointed by this less-than-warm welcome.

"I-oh, all right then. Come in, quickly. _Quickly_!"

They were barely over the threshold when Xenophilius slammed the door shut behind them. They were standing in the most peculiar kitchen Harry had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that it felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls-the stove, the sink, and the cupboards-and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colors. Harry thought he recognized Luna's style: The effect, in such as enclosed space, was slightly overwhelming.

In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead. Harry wondered what Luna could be doing.

"You'd better come up," said Xenophilius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and led the way.

The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller and entirely round, the room somewhat resembled the Room of Requirement on the unforgettable occasion that it had transformed itself into a gigantic labyrinth comprised of centuries of hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of creatures Harry did not recognize, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling.

Luna was not there. The thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels. It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of old shelves, but after a moment Harry deduced that it was an old-fashioned printing press, due to the fact that it was churning out _Quibblers_.

"Excuse me," said Xenophilius, and he strode over to the machine, seized a grubby tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters. He then faced Harry.

"Why have you come here?"

Before Harry could speak, however, Hermione let out a small cry of shock.

"Mr. Lovegood-what's that?"

She was pointing at an enormous, gray spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.

"It is the corn of a Crumble-Horned Snorlock," said Xenophilius.

"No, it isn't!" said Hermione.

"Hermione," muttered Harry slightly embarrassed, "now's not the moment-"

"But Harry, it's an Erumpet horn! It is Class B Tradeable Material and it's an extraordinarily dangerous thing to have in a house!"

"How d'you know it's an Erumpet horn?" asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.

"There's a description in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_! Mr. Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straightaway, don't you know it can explode at the slightest touch?"

"The Crumble-Horned Snorback," said Xenophilius very clearly, a mulish look upon his face, "is a shy and highly magical creature, and its horn-"

"Mr. Lovegood, I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that's an Erumpet horn and it's incredibly dangerous-I don't know where you got it-"

"I bought it," said Xenophilius dogmatically, "two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew of my interest in the exquisite Snorlack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now," he said turning to Harry, "why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?"

"We need some help," said Harry, before Hermione could start again.

"Ah," said Xenophilius. "Help. Hmm."

His good eye moved again to Harry's scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerized.

"Yes. The thing is...helping Harry Potter...rather dangerous..."

"Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to help Harry?" said Ron. "In that magazine of yours?"

Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.

"Er-yes, I have expressed that view. However-"

"That's for everyone else to do, not you personally?" said Ron.

Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the three of them. Harry had the impression that he was undergoing some painful internal struggle.

"Where's Luna?" asked Hermione. "Let's see what she thinks."

Xenophilius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, "Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She...she will like to see you. I'll go and call her and the-yes, very well. I shall try to help you."

He disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front door open and close. They looked at each other.

"Cowardly old wart," said Ron. "Luna's got ten times his guts."

"He's probably worried about what'll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here," said Harry.

"He seemed worried about something else. I don't think it had all to do with Harry's presence. Maybe it's the Erumphet horn, seriously it's a hazard."

Harry's eyes had fallen upon another peculiar object standing upon the cluttered, curved sideboard: a stone bust of a beautiful but austere-looking witch wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wings was stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of her head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around her forehead.

"Look at that," said Harry, getting up to get a closer look.

"Be careful of the Erumpent horn, for heaven's sake." said Hermione a little edgy.

"Fetching," said Ron returning to the object. "Surprised he didn't wear that to the wedding."

They heard the front door close, and a moment later Xenophilius had climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encased in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and steaming teapot.

"Ah, you have spotted my pet invention," he said, shoving the tray into Hermione's arms and joining Harry at the statue's side. "Modeled, fitting enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw. _'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!' _"

He indicated the objects like ear trumpets.

"These are the Wrackspurt siphons-to remove all sources of distraction from the tinker's immediate area. Here," he pointed out the tiny wings, "a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally," he pointed to the orange radish, "the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary."

Xenophilius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables.

"May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?" said Xenophilius. "We make it ourselves." As he started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, "Luna is down beyond the Bottom Bridge, she is so excited that you are here. She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plimpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar.

"Now" he removed a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, "how may I help you, Mr. Potter."

"Well," said Harry, glancing at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly, "it's about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur's wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant."

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows.

"Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?"

* * *

**AN: **I would once again like to ask you guys to spread the story. I know the Ron I'm making is not an immature spoiled brat but I prefer this one to the one JK wrote. I'll try to update as soon as possible.

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww_


	6. Chapter 6: The Tale of Three Brothers

For everyone else who don't think they can do better thanks for reading and reviewing, even if you just read and don't review, which is not cool but whatever.

**DISCLAIMER:** _I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. Jk Rowling does. Wait why should I tell you, you should know because you read her books. Maybe what the author of Inkheart is right. No one knows the author all though we know the story. My name is Cathy Kent (psych) by the way._

_Noodles  
Owwwwwww_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: The Tale of Three Brothers

Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione. Neither of them seemed to have understood what Xenophilius had said either.

"The Deathly Hallows?"

"That's right," said Xenophilius. "You haven't heard of them? I'm not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother's wedding," he nodded at Ron, "who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows-at least, not in a crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest."

He stirred several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drank some.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. 'I still don't understand."

To be polite, he took a sip from his cup too, and almost gagged. The stuff was quite disgusting, as though someone had liquidized bogey-flavored Every Flavor Beans.

"Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows," said Xenophilius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.

"But what _are_ the Deathly Hallows?" asked Hermione.

Xenophilius set aside his empty teacup.

"I assume that you are all familiar with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"

They all said, "Yes". Ron looked surprised at Harry.

"Hermione read out loud to me." Xenophilius nodded gravely.

"Well, the whole thing starts with 'The Tale of Three Brothers'...I have a copy somewhere..."

He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Hermione said, "I've got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I've got it right here."

And she pulled out _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ from her small, beaded bag.

"The original!" inquired Xenophilius sharply, and when she nodded, he said, "Well then, why don't you read it aloud?" and quickly added, "So we can all get reacquainted with the story."

"Er...all right," said Hermione nervously. She opened the book as Harry crossed the room to her and sat on the floor, his head on one of her lap. Hermione gave a smile and positioned the book so that it wasn't on Harry's head. She gave a cough and began to read, running her fingers through Harry's hair.

"_'There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight-' _"

"Midnight, our mum always told us," said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head to listen. Hermione shot him a look of annoyance.

"Sorry, I just think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight!" said Ron.

"Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives," said Harry before he could stop himself. Xenophilius did not seem to be paying attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky. "Go on, Hermione."

" _'In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waves their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure._

_And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him._

" _'So the oldest brother, who was combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from the branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother._

" _'Then the second brother, who was arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death.. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead._

" _'And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility._

" _'Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts._

" _'In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination._

" _'The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible._

" _'That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat._

" _'And so Death took the first brother for his own._

" _'Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at __once before him._

" _Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with the hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her._

" _'And so Death took her second brother for his own._

" _But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.'_ "

Hermione closed the book. It was a moment or two before Xenophilius seemed to realize that she had stopped reading, then he withdrew his gaze from the window and said, "Well, there you are.

"Sorry?" said Hermione, sounding confused. She kept rummaging through Harry's hair.

"Those are the Deathly Hallows," said Xenophilius.

He picked up a quill from the packed table at his elbow, and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books.

"The Elder Wand," he said, and he drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. 'The Resurrection Stone," he said, and he added a circle on top of the line. "The Cloak of Invisibility," he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbol that so intrigues Hermione. "Together," he said, "the Deathly Hallows."

"But there's no mention of the words 'Deathly Hallows' in the story," said Hermione.

"Well, of course not," said Xenophilius, maddening smug. "That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to the three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death."

There was a short silence in which Xenophilius glanced out of the window. Already the sun was low in the sky.

"Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon," he said quietly.

"When you say 'Master of Death'-" said Ron.

"Master," said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. "Conqueror, Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer."

"But then...do you mean..." said Hermione slowly, and Harry could tell she was trying to keep any trace of skepticism out of her voice, "that you believe these objects-the Hallows-actually exist?"

Xenophilius raised his eyebrows again.

"Well, of course."

"But," said Hermione, and Harry could hear her restraint starting to crack, "how can you _possibly_ believe-?"

"Luna told me all about you, young lady," said Xenophilius. "You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded."

"Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione," said Ron, nodding toward the ludicrous headdress. His voice shook with the strain of not laughing.

"Mr. Lovegood," Hermione began again. "We all know that here are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are truly rare, but they exist. But-"

"Ah, but the Third Hallow is a _true _Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but face with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like _that_, Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. She, Harry, and Ron glanced at one another, and Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment.

"Exactly," said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. "None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?"

He glanced out of the window again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink.

"All right," said Hermione, disconcerted. "Say the Cloak existed...what about the stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?"

"What of it?"

"Well, how can it be real?"

"Prove that it is not," said Xenophilius.

Hermione looked outraged.

"But that's-I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I _possibly_ prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get hold of-of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that _anythings _real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobodies _proved_ it doesn't exist!"

"Yes, you could," said Xenophilius. "I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little."

"So the Elder Wand," said Harry quickly before Hermione could retort,"you think that exists too?"

"Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence," said Xenophilius. "The Elder Wand is the Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand."

"Which is what?" asked Harry.

"Which is that possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it," said Xenophilius. "Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Barnabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history."

Harry glanced up at Hermione. She was frowning at Xenophilius, but she did not contradict him.

"So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?" asked Ron.

"Alas, who knows?" said Xenophilius, as he gazed out of the window. "Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us."

There was a pause. Finally Hermione asked stiffly, "Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?"

Xenophilius looked taken aback as something shifted in Harry's memory, but he could not locate it, Peverell...he had heard that name before...

"But you have been misleading me, young woman!" said Xenophilius, now sitting up much straighter in his chair and goggling at Hermione. "I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverell's have everything-_everything!_-to do with the Hallows!"

"Who are the Peveralls?" asked Ron.

"That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, in Godric's Hollow," said Hermione, still watching Xenophilius. "Ignotus Peverell."

"Exactly!" said Xenophilius, his forefinger raised pedantically. "The sign of the Deathly Hallows on Ignotus's grave is conclusive proof!"

"Of what?" asked Ron.

"Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverall brothers, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!"

With another glance at the window he got up to his feet, picked up the tray, and headed for the spiral staircase.

"You will stay for dinner?" he called, as he vanished downstairs again. "Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup."

"Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo's," said Ron under his breath.

Harry waited until they could hear Xenophilius moving about in the kitchen downstairs before speaking.

"What do you think?" he asked Hermione, whom resumed stroking Harry's hair.

"Oh, Harry," she said wearily, "it's a pile of utter rubbish. This can't be what the sign really means. I'll admit to the wand and cloak but the stone is-is just made believe."

"I s'pose this _is _the man who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," said Ron.

"You don't believe it either?" Harry asked him.

"Nah, that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business, and you'll be okay.' Come to think of it," Ron added, "maybe that story's why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky."

"What are you talking about?"

"One of those superstitions, isn't it? 'May-born witches will marry Muggles.' 'Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.' 'Wand of elder, never prosper.' You must've heard of them. My mum's full of them."

"Harry and I were raised by Muggles," Hermione reminded him. "We were taught different superstitions." She sighed deeply as a rather pungent smell drifted up from the kitchen. The one good thing about her exasperation with Xenophilius was that it seemed to have made her forget that she was annoyed with Ron. "I think you're right," she told him. "It's just a morality tale, it's obvious which gift is best, which on you'd choose-"

The three of them spoke at the same time; Hermione said, "the Cloak," Ron said, "the wand," and Harry said, "the stone."

They looked at each other, half surprised, half amused.

"You're _supposed_ to say the Cloak," Ron told Hermione, "but you wouldn't need to be invisible if you had the wand. _An unbeatable wand,_ Hermione, come on!"

"We've already got an Invisibility Cloak," said Harry.

"And it's helped rather a lot, in case you hadn't noticed!" said Hermione. "Whereas the wand would be bound to attract trouble-"

"Only if you shouted about it," argued Ron. "Only if you were prat enough to go dancing around, waving it over your head, and singing. 'I've got an unbeatable wand, come and have a go if you think you're enough.' As long as you kept you trap shut-"

"Yes, but _could_ you keep your trap shut?" said Hermione, looking skeptical. 'You know, the only true thing he said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds of years."

"There have?" asked Harry.

Hermione looked exasperated. The expressions was so endearingly familiar that Harry and Ron grinned at each other.

"The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, they crop up under different names through the centuries, usually in the possession of some Dark Wizard who's boasting about them. Professor Binns mentioned some of them."

"Wasn't you who said, 'the wand is only as powerful as the wizard who use them.'?" Ron asked confused. Hermione turned red.

"Yeah, well Harry sort of made me understand that his wand directed himself to You-Know-Who." Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, must've took a lot of convincing." Ron said to Harry.

Harry laughed, the strange idea that had occurred to him was, after all, ridiculous. His wand, he reminded himself, had been of holly, not elder, and it had been made by Ollivander, whatever it had done that night Voldemort had pursued him across the skies. And if it had been unbeatable, how could it have been broken?"

"So why would you take the stone?" Ron asked him.

"Well, if you could bring people back, we could have Sirius...Mad-Eye...Dumbledore...my parents..."

Neither Hermione nor Ron smiled.

"But according to Beedle the Bard, they wouldn't want to come back, would they?" said Harry, thinking about the tale they had just heard. "I don't suppose there have been loads of other stories about a stone that can raise the dead, have there?" he asked Hermione.

"No," she replied sadly. "I don't think anyone except Mr. Lovegood could kid themselves that's possible. Beedle probably took the idea from the Socerer's Stone; you know, instead of a stone to make you immortal, a stone to reverse death."

The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger. It was something like burning underpants. Harry wondered whether it would be possible to eat enough of whatever Xenophilius was cooking to spare his feelings.

"So you agree to the Wand and Cloak, why not the stone?" Ron asked Hermione.

"It's a _stone _Ron..."

As they argued Harry got up and moved about the room, only half listening. Reaching the spiral stair, he raised his eyebrow absently to the next level and was distracted at once. His own face was looking back at him from the ceiling of the room above.

After a moment's bewilderment, he realized that it was not a mirror, but a painting. Curious, he began to climb the stairs.

"Harry, what are you doing? I don't think you should look around when he's not here!"

But Harry had already reached the next level.

Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with five beautifully painted faces: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville. They were not moving as the portraits at Hogwarts moved, but there was certain magic about them all the same. Harry thought they breathed. What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around pictures, linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Harry realized that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink: _friends...friends...friends..._

Harry felt a great rush of affection for Luna. He looked around the room. There was a large photograph beside the bed, of a young Luna and a woman who looked very like her. They were hugging. Luna looked rather better-groomed in this picture than Harry had ever seen her in life. The picture was dusty. This struck Harry as slightly odd. He stared around.

Something was wrong. The pale blue carpet was also thick with dust. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, whose doors stood ajar. The bed had a cold, unfriendly look, as though it had not been slept in for weeks. A single cobweb stretched over the nearest window, across a blood red sky.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked as Harry descended the staircase, but before he could respond, Xenophilius reached the top of the stairs from the kitchen, now holding a tray laden with bowls.

"Mr. Lovegood," asked Harry. "Where's Luna?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where's Luna?"

Xenophilius halted on the top step.

"I-I've already told you. She is down at Bottom Bridge, fishing for Plimpies."

"So why have you laid that tray for four?"

Xenophilius tried to speak, but no sound came out. The only noise was the continued chugging of printing press, and a slight rattle from the tray as Xenophilius's hands shook.

"I don't think Luna's been here for weeks," said Harry. "Her clothes are gone, her bed hasn't been slept in. Where is she? And why do you keep looking out the window?"

Xenophilius dropped the tray. The bowls bounced and smashed. Harry, Ron and Hermione drew their wands. Xenophilius froze, his hand about to enter his pocket. At that moment the printing press gave a huge bang and numerous _Quibblers _came streaming across the floor from underneath the tablecloth; the press fell silent at last.

Hermione stooped down and picked up one of the magazines, her wand still pointing at Mr. Lovegood.

"Harry, look at this."

He strode over to her as quickly as he could through all the clutter. The front of _The_ _Quibbler_ carried his own picture, emblazoned with the words UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE and captioned with the reward money.

"_The Quibbler's _going for a new angle, then?" Harry asked coldly, his mind working very fast. "Is that what you are doing when you went to the garden, Mr. Lovegood? Sending an owl to the Ministery?"

Xenophilius licked his lips.

"They took my Luna," he whispered. "Because of what I've been writing. They took my Luna and I don't know where she is, what they've done to her. But they might give her back to me if I-if I-"

"Hand over Harry?" Hermione finished for him.

"No deal," said Ron flatly. "Get out of the way, we're leaving."

Xenophilius looked ghastly, a century old, his lips drawn back into a dreadful leer.

"They will be here at any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave."

He spread his arms in front of the staircase, and Harry had a sudden vision of his mother doing the same thing in front of his crib.

"Don't make us hurt you," Harry said. "Get out of the way, Mr. Lovegood."

"HARRY!" Hermione screamed.

Figures on broomsticks were flying past the window. As the three of them looked at away from him, Xenophilius drew his wand. Harry realized their mistake just in time. He launched himself sideways, shoving Hermione and Ron out of harm's way as Xenophilius's Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent horn.

There was a colossal explosion. The sound of it seemed to blow the room apart. Fragments of wood and paper and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick white dust. Harry flew through the air, then crashed to the floor, unable to see as debris rained upon him, his arms over his head. He heard Hermione's scream, Ron's yell, and a series of sickening metallic thuds, which told him that Xenophilius had been blasted off his feat and fallen backward down the spiral stairs.

Half buried in rubble, Harry tried to raise himself. He could barely breathe or see the dust. Half of the ceiling had fallen in, and the end of Luna's bed was hanging through the hole. The bust of Rowena Ravenclaw lay beside him with half its face missing, fragments of torn parchment were floating through the air, and most of the printing press lay on its side, blocking the top of the staircase to the kitchen. Then another white shape moved close by, and Hermione, coated in dust like a second statue, pressed her finger to her lips.

The door downstairs crashed open.

"Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?" said a rough voice. "Didn't I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?"

There was a bang and a scream of pain from Xenophilius.

"No...no...upstairs...Potter!"

"I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren't coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding head-dress? And the week before"-another bang, another squeal-"when you thought we'd give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumple"-_bang_-"Snorkacks?"

"No-no-I beg you!" sobbed Xenophilius. "It really is Potter! Really!"

"And now it turns out you only called us here to try an d blow us up!" roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.

"The place looks like it's about to fall in, Selwyn," said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. "The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down."

"You lying piece of filth," shouted the wizard named Selwyn. "You've never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you'd lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you'll get your girl back like this?"

"I swear...I swear...Potter's upstairs!"

"_Homenum revelio,"_ said the voice at the foot of the stairs.

Harry heard Hermione gasp, and he had the odd sensation that something was swooping low over him, immersing his body in its shadow.

"There's someone up there all right, Selwyn," said the second man sharply.

"It's Potter, I tell you, it's Potter!" sobbed Xenophilius. "Please...please...give me Luna, just let me have Luna..."

"You can have you little girl, Lovegood," said Selwyn, "if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury."

Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings. Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.

"Come on," Harry whispered, "we've got to get out of here."

He started to dig himself out under the cover of all the noise Xenophilius was making on the staircase. Ron was buried deepest: Harry and Hermione climbed, as quietly as they could, over all the wreckage to where he lay, trying to raise a heavy chest of drawers off his legs. While Xenophilius's banging and scraping drew nearer and nearer, Hermione managed to free Ron with the use of a Hover Charm.

"All right," breathed Hermione, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs began to tremble; Xenophilius was feet away from them. She was still white with dust. "Do you trust me, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"Okay then," Hermione whispered, "give me the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, you're going to put it on."

"Me? But Harry-"

"_Please, Ron!_ Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron, grab my shoulders."

Harry held out his left hand. Ron vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating; Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm. Harry did not know what Hermione was waiting for.

"Hold tight," she whispered. "Hold tight...any second..."

Xenophilius paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.

"_Obliviate!_" cried Hermione, pointing her wand first into his face, then at the floor beneath them. "_Deprimo!"_

She had blasted a hole in the sitting room floor. They fell like boulders, Harry still holding onto her hand for dear life; there was a scream from below, and he glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattering ceiling. Hermione twisted in midair and the thundering of the collapsing house rand in Harry's ears as she dragged him once more into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7: The Deathly Hallows

The next few chapters might be different from what they used to be. Not sure. I tried to delete as much of my old selfs talking but I find it amusing to read what I wrote. I don't know, it was just delighting to see that at least somethings don't change.

**DISCLAIMER:** _You know it so why bother. Oh that's right 'cause fan fic may get sued. I really don't see why I have to do it if fan fic already say's it. Anyway I don't own it I'm not that much of a genius._

_Noodles  
Owwwwwwwww_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Deathly Hallows

Harry fell, panting, onto grass and scrambled up at once. They seemed to have landed in the corner of a field at dusk; Hermione was already running in a circle around them, waving her wand.

"_Protego Totalum...Salvio Hexia..."_

"That treacherous old bleeder!" Ron panted, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it to Harry. "Hermione you're a genius, a total genius, I can't believe we got out of that!"

"_Cave Inicium..._Didn't I _say _it was an Erumpent horn, didn't I tell him? And now his house had been blown apart!"

"Serves him right," said Ron, examining his torn jeans and the cuts on his legs. "What d'you reckon they'll do to him?"

"Oh, I hope they don't kill him!" groaned Hermione. "That's why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn't been lying!"

"Why hide me, though?" asked Ron.

"You're supposed to be in bed with spattergroit, Ron! They've kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you're with him?"

"But what about _your_ mum and dad?"

"They're in Australia," said Hermione. "They should be all right. They don't know anything."

"You're a genius," Ron repeated, looking awed.

"Yeah, you are," agreed Harry fervently. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

She beamed, but became solemn at once.

"What about Luna?"

"Well, if they're telling the truth and she's still live-" began Ron.

"Don't say that, don't say it!" squealed Hermione. "She must be alive, she must!"

"Then she'll be in Azkaban, I expect," said Ron. "Probably in there teaching all the inmates about Wrackspurts and Nargles." They all gave a small laugh.

"I hope you're right," said Hermione. She passed a hand over her eyes. "I'd feel so sorry for Xenophilius if-"

"-if he hadn't just tried to sell us to the Death Eaters, yeah," said Ron.

They put up the tent and retreated inside it, where Ron made some tea. After their narrow escape, the chilly, musty old place felt like home; safe, familiar, and friendly.

"Oh, why did we go there?" groaned Hermione after a few minutes' silence. She and Harry were sitting on the couch, she was on his lap. "You were right, Harry, it was Godric's Hollow all over again, a complete waste of time! The Deathly Hallows...such rubbish...although actually," a sudden thought seemed to have struck her, "he might have made it all up, mightn't he? He probably doesn't believe in the Deathly Hallows at all, he just wanted to keep us talking until the Death Eaters arrived!"

"I don't think so," said Ron. "It's a damn sight harder making stuff up when you're under stress than you'd think. I found that out when the Snatchers caught me. It was much easier pretending to be Stan, because I knew a bit about him, than inventing a whole new person. Old Lovegood was under loads of pressure, trying to make sure we stayed put. I reckon he told us the truth, or what he thinks is the truth, just to keep us talking."

"Well, I don't suppose it matter," sighed Hermione. "Even if he was being honest. I never heard such a lot of nonsense in all my life."

"Hang on, though," said Ron. "The Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a myth, wasn't it?"

"But the Deathly Hallows _can't _exist, Ron!"

"You keep saying that, but one of them can," said Ron. "Harry's Invisibility Cloak-"

" 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' is a story," said Hermione firmly. "A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we'd have everything we need already!"

"I don't know. We could do with an unbeatable wand," said Harry, turning the blackthorn wand he so disliked over in his fingers.

"I still say that the Resurrection Stone," Her fingers sketched quotation marks around the name, and her tone dripping sarcasm, "is balony. No magic can raise the dead, and that's that!"

"When my wand connected with You-Know-Who's, it made my mum and dad appear...and Cedric..."

"But they really weren't back from the dead, were they?" said Hermione. "Those kinds of-of pale imitations aren't the same as truly bringing someone back to life."

"But she, the girl in the tale, didn't really come back, did she? The story says that once people are dead, they belong with the dead. But the second brother still got to see her and talk to her, didn't he? He even lived with her for a while..."

He saw and felt concern and something less easily definable in Hermione's expression. Then, as she glanced at Ron, Harry realized that it was fear. He had scared her with his talk of living with dead people.

"So that Peverall bloke who's buried in Godric's Hollow," he said hastily, trying to sound robustly sane, "you don't know anything about him, then?"

"No," she replied, looking relieved at the change of subject. "I looked him up after I saw the mark on his grave; if he'd been anyone famous or done anything important, I'm sure he'd be in one of our books. The only place I've managed to find the name "Peverell" is _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy._ I borrowed it from Kreacher." she explained as Ron raised his eyebrows. "It lists the pure-blood families that are now extinct in the male line. Apparently the Peverells were one of the earliest families to vanish."

" 'Extinct in the male line'?" repeated Ron.

"It means the name's died out," said Hermione, "centuries ago, in the case of the Peverells. They could still have descendants, though, they'd just be called something different."

And then it came to Harry in one shining piece, the memory that had stirred at the sound of the name "Peverell": a filthy old man brandishing an ugly ring in the face of a Ministery official, and he cried out loud, "Marvolo Gaunt."

"Sorry?"said Ron and Hermione together.

"_Marvolo Gaunt! _You-Know-Who's grandfather! In the Pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!"

Ron and Hermione looked bewildered.

"The ring, the ring that became the Horocrux, Marvolo Gaunt said it was the Peverell coat of arms on it! I saw him waving it in the bloke from Minstery's face, he nearly shoved it up his nose!"

"The Peverell coat of arms!" said Hermione sharply. "Could you see what it looked like?"

"Not really," said Harry, trying to remember. "There was nothing fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open."

Harry saw Hermione's comprehension in the sudden widening of her eyes. Ron was looking from one to the other, astonished.

"Blimey...You reckon it was this sign again? The sign of the Hallows?"

"Why not?" said Harry excitedly. "Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, he might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn't the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He'd have loved to think the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal."

"Yes...and that's all very interesting," said Hermione cautiously, "but if you're thinking what I think you're think-"

"Well, why not_? Why not_?" said Harry, abandoning caution. "It was a stone, wasn't it?" He looked at Ron for support. "What if it was the Resurrection Stone?"

Ron's mouth fell open.

"Blimey-but would it still work if Dumbledore broke-?"

"Work_? Work_? Ron, it never worked_! There's not such thing as a Resurrection _Stone?"

Hermione had lept to her feet, looking exasperated and angry. "Harry, you're trying to fit everything into the Hallows story-"

_"Fit everything in_?" he repeated. "Hermione, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hallows was on that stone! Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!"

"A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!"

"Where d'you reckon the ring is now?" Ron asked Harry. "What did Dumbledore do with it after he broke it open?"

But Harry's imagination was racing ahead, far beyond Ron and Hermione's...

_Three objects, of Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor_ _master of Death... Conqueror...Vanquisher...The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death..._

And he saw himself, possessor of the Hallows, facing Voldemort, whose Horocruxes were no match..._Neither can live while the other survives..._Was this the answer? Hallows versus Horocruxes? Was there a way, after all, to ensure that he was the one who triumphed? If he were the master of the Deathly Hallows would he be safe?

"Harry?"

But he scarcely heard Hermione. He had pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and was running it through his fingers, the clothe supple as water, light as air. He had never seen anything to equal it in his nearly seven years in the Wizarding world. The Cloak was exactly what Xenophilius had described: _A cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it..._

And then, with a gasp he remembered-

"Dumbledore had my Cloak the night my parents died!"

His voice shook and he could feel the color in his face, but he did not care.

"My mum told Sirius that Dumbledore borrowed the Cloak! This is why! He wanted to examine it, because he thought it was the third Hallow! Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric's Hollow..." Harry was walking blindly around the tent, feeling as though great new vistas of truth were opening all around him. "He's my ancestor! I'm descended from the third brother! It all makes sense!"

He felt armed in certainty, in his belief in the Hallows, as if the mere idea of possessing them was giving him protection, and he felt joyous as he turned his back on the other two.

"Harry," said Hermione again, but he was busy undoing the pouch around his neck, his fingers shaking hard.

"Read it," he told her, pushing his mother's letter into her hand. "Read it! Dumbledore had the Cloak! Why else would he want it? He didn't need a Cloak, he could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that he made himself completely invisible without one!"

Something fell to the floor and rolled, glittering, under a chair. He had dislodged the Snitch when she pulled out the letter. He stooped to pick it up, and then the newly tapped spring of fabulous discoveries threw him another gift, and shock and wonder erupted inside him so that he shouted out.

"IT'S IN HERE! He left me the ring-it's in the Snitch!"

"You-you reckon?"

He could not understand why Ron looked taken aback. It was so obvious, so clear to Harry. Everything fit, everything...His Cloak was the third Hallow, and when he discovered how to open the Snitch he would have the second, and then all he needed to do was find the first Hallow, the Elder Wand, and then-

But it was as though a curtain fell on a lit stage. All his excitement, all his hope and happiness were extinguished at a stroke, and he stood alone in the darkness, and the glorious spell was broken.

"That's what he's after."

The change in his voice made Hermione and Ron look even more scared.

"You-Know-Who's after the Elder Wand."

He turned his back on their strained, incredulous faces. He knew it was the truth. It all made sense. Voldemort was not seeking a new wand; he was seeking an old wand, a very old wand indeed. Harry walked to the entrance of the tent, forgetting about Ron and Hermione as he looked out into the night, thinking...

Voldemort had been raised in a Muggle orphanage. Nobody could have told him _The Tale of Beedle the __Bard_when he was a child, any more than Harry had heard them. Hardly any wizards believed in the Deathly Hallows. Was it likely that Voldemort knew about them?

Harry gazed into the darkness...If Voldemort had known about the Deathly Hallows, surely he would have sought them, done anything to possess them. Three objects that made the possessor master of Death? If he had known about the Deathly Hallows, he might not have needed the Horocruxs in the first place. Didn't the simple fact that he had taken a Hallow, and turned it into a Horocrux, demonstrate that he did not know this last great Wizarding secret?

Which meant Voldemort sought the Elder Wand without realizing its full power, without understanding that it was one of three...for the wand was the Hallows that could not be hidden, whose existence was best known..._The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the Wizarding history..._

Harry watched the cloudy sky, curves of smoke-gray and silver sliding over the face of the white moon. He felt lightheaded with amazement at his discoveries.

He turned back into the tent. It was a shock to see Hermione and Ron standing exactly where he had left them, Hermione still holding Lily's letter, Ron at her side looking slightly anxious. Didn't they realize how far they had traveled in the last few minutes?

"This is it," Harry said, trying to bring them inside the glow of his own astonished certainty. "This explains everything. The Deathly Hallows are real, and I've got one-maybe two-"

He held up the Snitch.

"-and You-Know-Who's chasing the third, but he doesn't realize...he just thinks it's a powerful wand-"

"Harry," said Hermione, moving across to him and handing him back Lily's letter, "I'm sorry, but I think you've got this wrong, all wrong."

"But don't you see? It all fits-"

"No, it doesn't," she said, "It _doesn't_, Harry, you're just getting carried away. Please," she said as he started to speak, "please just answer me this: If the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all three of them would be master of Death-Harry, why wouldn't he have told you? Why?"

"But you said Hermione? You've got to find out about them for yourself! It's a Quest!"

"But I only said that to try to persuade you to come to the Lovegood's!" cried Hermione in exasperation. "I didn't really believe it!"

Harry took no notice.

"Dumbledore usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing he'd do."

"Harry, this isn't a game, this isn't practice! This is the real thing, and Dumbledore left you very clear instructions: Find and destroy the Horocruxs! That symbol doesn't mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can't afford to get sidetracked-"

Harry was barely listening to her. He was turning the Snitch over and over in his hands, half expecting it to break open, to reveal the Resurrection Stone, to prove to Hermione that he was right, that the Deathly Hallows were real.

She appealed to Ron.

"You don't believe in this, do you?"

Harry looked up. Ron hesitated.

"I dunno...I mean...bits of it sort of fit together," said Ron awkwardly. "But when you look at the whole thing..." He took a deep breathe. "I think we're supposed to get rid of the Horocruxs, Harry. That's what Dumbledore told us to do. Maybe...maybe we should forget about this Hallow's business."

"Thank you Ron," said Hermione. "I'll take the first watch.

As she strode past Harry and sat down in the tent entrance, bringing the action to a fierce full stop.

Harry waited until Ron was asleep to walk out to Hermione. She looked at him and looked quickly away. Harry sat down next to her.

"I don't want to talk," she firmly said, schooching away. Harry was determined to know what was bothering her.

"Fine I wasn't going to," Harry said, getting closer. "I just want to be with my girlfriend." He pulled her to him. She came over suspiciously.

He pulled her to his lap and ran his fingers through her hair. He kissed her lightly on the neck. He then moved on to messaging her shoulders. After a few minutes, Hermione finally relaxed and had closed her eyes.

"Hermione," she tensed up. "sweetie, pumpkin, honey please I want to know why," he asked kissing her on the cheek. She seemed to be fighting an internal conflict but in the end submitted to Harry's will.

With a deep sigh Hermione spilled. "The idea scares me. Living with the dead. Even if it were true I don't want you to look for it," Hermione said looking at Harry in the eye.

"So you admit it's a possibility."

"No..."

"But you admit to wand and the Cloak."

"It doesn't matter because we won't go looking for them. Harry I'm serious we can't afford to get side-tracked," she said her eyes pleading. Harry opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. It seemed he couldn't change her mind but that didn't stop him from still wanting the Hallows.

"Fine, as you wish," Harry said not looking at her. Hermione looked at him suspiciously but didn't say anything. Harry got up.

"Are you going back to sleep?" she asked half-disappointed.

"Yeah, I'm really sleepy," Harry replied as he was going inside Hermione called him back.

"Harry please you must understand," she said walking to him.

"I do, I just have a feeling that we should find these and use them for the final battle." As Hermione opened her mouth to speak Harry said, "Maybe not the stone but the wand, Hermione."

"Maybe we can look for them after we have all the Horocrux's, to ease your desire," she said pulling him down with her. But Harry immediately stood back up.

"Really? You'd do that for me," Harry asked ecstatic.

"I'd do anything for you," she said. She was going to say something else but found herself kissing Harry. He kissed her with all his might not letting go until air was necessary. He then moved down and undid her pants.

"Wait harry, you can't do that here."

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "He's asleep."

"Yeah but...oh alright." She helped him lower her pants before he started licking.

After he was done, he put her pants back on and she sat on him.

"Good thing I told you in private," S\she said giggling.

"I love it when you giggle. You sound so girly," Harry said laughing.

"I am a girl." Hermione said snuggling in Harry's arms.

"And a beautiful one," Harry said kissing her on her forehead. He soothingly ran his fingers through her hair. He couldn't wait until they went looking for the Hallow's. Harry could almost feel himself possessing the stone, the cloak and the wand.

Harry hardly slept that night. The idea of the Deathly Hallows had taken possession of him, and he could not rest while agitating thoughts whirled through his mind: the wand, the stone, and the Cloak, if he could just possess them all...

_I open at the close..._But what was 'the close'? Why couldn't he have the stone now? If only he had the stone, he could asked Dumbledore these questions in person...and Harry murmured words to the Snitch in the darkness, trying everything, even Parseltongue, but the golden ball would not open...

And the wand, the Elder Wand, where was that hidden? Where was Voldemort searching now? Harry wished his scar would burn and show him Voldemort's thoughts, because for the first time ever, he and Voldemort were united in wanting the very same thing...and Harry pressed his mouth again to the Snitch, kissing it, nearly swallowing it, but the cold metal did not yield...

It was nearly dawn when he remembered Luna, alone in a cell in Azkaban, surrounded by dementors, and he suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He had forgotten all about her in his feverish contemplation of the Hallows. If only they could rescue her; but dementors in those numbers would be virtually unassailable. The Patronus with the blackhorn wand was feeble, weak.

If only there was a way to get a better wand...

And desire for the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, unbeatable, invincible, swallowed him once more...

They packed the tent next morning and moved on through a dreary shower of rain. The downpour pursued them to the coast, where they pitched the tent that night, and persisted through the whole week, through sodden landscaped that Harry found bleak and depressing. They had to train Ron inside, which was difficult and clustered. Harry could not wait to finish Ron's training and finish finding the Horocrux's before starting to look for the Hallows.

Harry noticed how his connection with Voldemort had been become a blur, shifting as though they were moving in and out of focus. Harry was just able to make out the indistinct features of an object that looked like a skull, and something like a mountain that was more shadow than substance. Used to images sharply as reality, Harry was disconcentrated by the change. He was worried the connection between himself and Voldemort had been damaged, a connection that he both feared and, whatever he had told Hermione, prized. Somehow Harry connected these unsatisfying, vague images with the destruction of his wand, as if it was the blackhorn wand's fault that he could no longer see into Voldemorts mind as well as before.

As the weeks crept on, Harry could not help but notice, even through his new self-absorption, that Ron seemed to be taking charge. Perhaps because he was determined to make up for having walked out on them, perhaps because Harry's decent into listlessness galvanized his dormant leadership qualities, Ron was the one now encouraging and exhorting the other two into action.

"Three Horcruxes left," he kept saying. "We need a plan of action, come on? Where haven't we looked? Let's go through it again. The orphanage..."

Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, the Riddle House, Borgin and Burkes, Albania, every place that they knew Tom Riddle had ever lived or worked, visited or murdered, Ron and Hermione raked over them again. They came upon the village in which Helga Hufflepuff was born and raised.

"Are you sure that it might be here?" Harry asked. He may have been self-absorped recently but it was shocking to see what lengths Ron was taking to look for the cup.

"Doesn't hurt to look," Ron said shrugging.

"It's a very old village. I'm surprised people still even live here," Hermione said looking at a few houses with lights on.

"Kind of a creepy place." Ron said looking around as if waiting to seeing a ghost. They observed their surroundings. "Well, lets get to it." Ron said braving a step.

"I think her house it was over there." Hermione said, pointing in the opposite direction.

"Right of course." Ron said taking a step back. As they walked to the house, Harry felt very aware of his surroundings. Even though they were under the Cloak, he felt they were being watched. They reached the old, worn out house. The windows where gray with dust and door was half-moth eaten.

"In stories, people who go into creepy houses meet creepy things," Ron said frighteningly looking at the house.

**The Hufflepuffs: Loyalty, Hard Work, and Caring are not just for the weak but for the strong as well.  
Through it we all are united and become a community.**

"Nice," Ron said reading the sign. Harry knocked on the door. It rang loud, disturbing the peace and quiet from inside. Harry turned around to see if anyone was awakened.

Nobody answered and nobody moved. Harry turned the knob and opened the door. It creaked loudly, as it opened revealing a dark house.

"_Lumos,_" Hermione whispered, as they walked in. The floor creaked beneath them with every step, the furniture looked half-moth eaten, and frames context where barely visible.

"Home sweet home," Ron said looking around.

"We should split up and search the house. That way we can find it faster," Hermione said looking around.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Harry said.

"Bullocks if you think we should seperate," Ron said not moving either.

"Fine we all search one room together. Light up your wand," she said lighting hers. Harry and Ron looked relieved not to be separated. Ron moved on to an edge of the room.

"Damn spiders," he said looking at the webs. Harry kissed Hermione in the cheek before exploring the opposite side.

Silence fell upon them the rest of the day. The mood of the place was too terrifying to speak. Harry saw a few old photographs that were too fade to even tell what they were of. Jewelry boxes stood on desks that contained nothing but impressions of what they used to secure. There were a few books here and there, many of whose text was just as faded as the photographs. In the end of the day they finished searching the first half of the house.

"Not much findings." Ron said once inside. He continued looking for the radio station.

Ron spent evening after evening using his wand to beat out various rhythms on top of the wireless while the dials whirled. Occasionally they would catch snatches of advice on how to treat dragon pox, and once a few bars of "A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love." While he tapped, Ron continued to try to hit on the correct password, muttering strings of random words under his breaths.

"They're normally something to do with the Order," he told them. "Bill had a real knack for guessing them. I'm bound to get one in the end..."

"Yeah, it was exciting to be in one of the Hogwarts founders' house though," Hermione said snuggling in Harry's arms.

Not until March did luck favor Ron at last. Harry was sitting in the tent entrace, on guard duty, staring idly at a clump of grape hyacinths that had forced their way through the chill ground, when Ron shouted excitedly from inside the tent.

"I've got it! I've got it! Password was 'Albus'! Get in here, Harry!"

Harry hurried back inside the tent to find Ron and Hermione kneeling on the floor beside the little radio. Hermione was sitting open-mouthed, staring at the tiny speaker, from which a most familiar voice was issuing.

"...apologize for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters."

"But that' s Lee Jordan!" said Hermione.

"I know!" beamed Ron. "Cool, eh?"

"...now found ourselves another secure location," Lee was saying, "and I'm pleased to tell you that two of our regulars contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening, boys!"

"Hi."

"Evening, River."

"River, thats Lee," Ron explained. "They've all got code names, but you can usually tell -"

"Shh!" said Hermione.

"But before we hear from Royal and Romulus," Lee went on, "let's take a moment to report those deaths that the _Wizarding Wireless, Network News _and _Daily Prophet _don't think important enough to murders to Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell."

Harry felt a sick, swooping in his belly. He, Ron, and Hermione gazed at one another in horror.

"A goblin by the name of Gornuck was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to be traveling with Tonks, Cresswell, and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news.

"Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a Muggle family of five has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing the deaths as a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Phoenix inform us that it was the Killing Curse-more evidence, as if it were needed, of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.

"Finally, we regret to inform our listeners that the remains of Bathilda Bagshot have been discovered in Godric's Hollow. The evidence is that she died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic.

"Listeners, I'd like to invite you to now join us in a minute's silence in memory of Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Bathilda Bagshot, Gornuk, and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Death Eaters."

Silence fell, and Harry, Ron and Hermione did not speak. Half of Harry yearned to hear more, half of him was afraid of what might come next. It was the first time he had felt fully connected to the outside world for a long time.

"Thank you," said Lee's voice. "And now we turn to regular contributor Royal, for an update on how the new Wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world."

"Thanks, River." said an unmistakable voice, deep, measured, reassuring.

"Kingsley!" burst out Ron.

"We know!" said Hermione, hushing him.

"Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties," said Kingsley. "However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbors, often without the Muggle's knowledge. I'd like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken."

"And what would you say, Royal, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be 'Wizards first'?" asked Lee.

"I'd say that it's one short step from 'Wizarding first' to 'Purebloods first' and then to 'Death Eaters,'" replied Kingsley. "We're all human aren't we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving."

"Excellent put, Royal, and you've got my vote for Minister of Muggle if ever we get out of this mess," said Lee. "And now, over to Romulus for our popular feature 'Pals of Potter.'"

"Thanks River" said another very familiar voice; Ron started to speak, but Hermione forestalled him in a whisper.

"_We know it's Lupin!"_

"Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you've appeared on our program, that Harry Potter is still alive?"

"I do," said Lupin firmly. "There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. 'The Boy Who Lived' remains a symbol to everything we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting."

A mixture of gratitude and shame welled up Harry. Had Lupin forgiven him, then, for the terrible things he had said when they had last met?

"And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?"

"I'd tell him we're all with him in spirit," said Lupin, then hesitated slightly. "And I'd tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right."

Harry looked at Hermione, whose eyes were full of tears. She claimed his hand and held if firmly.

"Nearly always right," she repeated.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" said Ron in surprise. "Bill told me Lupin's living with Tonks again! And apparently she's getting pretty big too..."

"...and our usual update on those friends of Harry Potter's who are suffering for their allegiance?" Lee was saying.

"Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Harry Potter have now been imprisoned, including Xenophilius Lovegood, erstwhile editor of _The Quibbler_." said Lupin.

"At least he's still alive!" muttered Ron.

"We have also heard within the last few hours that Rubeus Hagrid-" all three of them gasped, and so nearly missed the rest of the sentence-"well-known gamekeeper at Hogwarts School, had narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Hogwarts, where he is rumored to have hosted a 'Support Harry Potter' party in his house. However, Hagrid was not taken into custody, and is, we believe, on the run."

"I suppose if helps, when escaping from Death Eaters, if you've got a sixteen-foot-high half brother?" asked Lee.

"It would tend to give you an edge," agreed Lupin gravely. "May I just add that while we here at _Potterwatch _applaud Hagrid's spirit, we would urge even the most devoted Harry's supporters against following Hagrid's lead. 'Support Harry Potter' parties are unwise in the present climate."

"Indeed they are, Romulus," said Lee, "so we suggest that you continue to show your devotion to the man with the lightening scar by listening to _Potterwatch_! And now let's move to news concerning the wizard who is proving just as exclusive as Harry Potter. We like to refer to him as Chief Death Eater, and here we give his views on some of the insane rumors circulating about him, I'd like to introduce a new correspondent: Rodent."

" _'Rodent'_?" said yet another familiar voice, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron cried out together.

"Fred!"

"No-is it George?"

"It's Fred I think," said Ron, leaning in closer, as whichever twin it was said,

"I'm not being 'Rodent,' no way, I told you I wanted to be 'Rapier'!"

"Oh, all right then. 'Rapier,' could you please give us your take on the various stories we've been hearing about the Chief Death Eater?"

"Yes, River, I can," said Fred. "As our listeners will know, unless they've taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pool of somewhere similar, You-Know-Who's strategy of remaining in the shadows is creating a nice little climate of panic. Mind you, if all the alleged sightings of him were genuine, we must have a good nineteen You-Know-Whos running around the place."

"Which suits him, of course," said Kingsley. "The air of mystery is creating more terror that actually showing himself."

"Agreed," said Fred. "So, people, let's try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill with a single glance from his eyes. That's a _basilisk_, listeners. One simple test: Check whether the thing that' s glaring at you has got legs. If if has, it's safe to look into it's eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that's really likely to be the last thing you ever do."

They all began laughing in what felt like weeks.

"And the rumors that he keeps being sighted abroad?" asked Lee.

"Well, who wouldn't want a nice little holiday after all the hard work he's been putting in?" asked Fred. "Point is, people, don't get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he's out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don't count on him being a long way away if you're planning on taking any risks. I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but safety first!"

"Thank you very much for those wise words, Rapier," said Lee. "Listeners, that brings is to the end of another _Potterwatch_. We don't know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials: The next password will be 'Mad-Eye.' Keep each other safe: Keep faith. Good Night."

The radio's dial twirled and the light behind the tuning panel went out. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were still beaming. Hearing familiar, friendly voices was a extraordinary tunic; Harry had become so used to their isolation he had merely forgotten that other people were resisting Voldemort. It was like waking from a long sleep.

"Good, eh?" said Ron happily.

"Brilliant," said Harry.

"It's so brave of them," sighed Hermione admiringly. "If they were found..."

"Well, they keep on the move, don't they?" said Ron. "Like us."

"And Fred said You-Know-Who is abroad looking for the Wand." Harry said carried away by his locked up obsession.

"He didn't exactly say that," Hermione replied, looking irritated.

"Come on, you know that Vold-"

"HARRY, NO!"

"-demort's after the Elder Wand!"

"The name's Taboo!" Ron bellowed, leapoing to his feet as a loud crack sounded outside the tent. "I told you, Harry, I told you, we can't say it anymore- we've got to put the protection back around us-quickly-it's how they find-"

But Ron stopped talking, and Harry knew why. The Sneakoscope on the table had lit up and begun to spin; they could hear voices coming nearer and nearer; rough, excited voices. Ron pulled the Deluminator out of his pocket and clicked it: Their lamps went out.

"Come out of there with your hands up!" came a rasping voice through the darkness. "We know you're in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don't care who we curse!"


	8. Chapter 8: Malfoy Manor

**Disclaimer: **_JK Rowling came up with Harry Potter not me. I'm just a girl unleashing some of her imagination. No law suits please I don't have the money to defend myself from one._

_Noodles  
Owwwwwwwww_

* * *

Chapter Twenty- Five: Malfoy Manor

Harry looked around at the other two, now mere outlines in the darkness. He instinctively pulled Hermione towards him and raised his wand.

"Accio Cloak," Harry whispered, throwing it at Ron. "Can we fight?" Harry asked. He looked at Hermione and was surprised to see she wasn't pointing her wand toward the outside, but into his face; there was a loud bang, a burst of white light, and he buckled in agony, unable to see. He could feel his face swelling rapidly under his hands as heavy footfalls surrounded him.

"Get up, vermin."

Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground. Before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see; his glasses fell off as he was bundled out of the tent; all he could make out were some four or five blurred shapes grabbing Hermione.

"Delicious girl...What a treat...I do enjoy the softness of the skin..." said a horribly familiar, rasping voice. Harry's stomach turned over. He knew who this was: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.

"Get off of her!" Harry shouted. He felt a sting fly through his face as he hit the ground with a groan.

"Search the tent!" said another voice.

Someone kept Harry face down on the ground. A thud told him that Hermione has been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched. Harry hoped Ron had managed to find a hiding place.

"Now let's see who we've got," said Greyback's gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wandlight fell into his face and Greyback laughed.

"I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

Harry did not answer immediately.

"I _said_," repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow on the diaphragm that made him double over in pain, "what happened to you?"

"Stung," Harry muttered. "Been stung."

"Yeah, looks like it," said a second voice.

"What's your name?" snarled Greyback.

"Dudley," said Harry.

"And your first name?"

"I-Vernon, Vernon Dudley."

"Check the list, Scabior," said Greyback, and Harry heard him move sideaways to look down at Hermione.

"And you pretty little lady..." The relish in his voice made Harry's flesh crawl so he gave a loud bark, earning him a bleeding nose.

"Easy, Greyback," said Scabior over the jeering of the others.

"Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if she's a bit quicker at remember her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?"

"Penelope Clearwater," said Hermione. She sounded terrified but convincing.

"What's your blood status?"

"Half-blood," said Hermione.

"Easy enough to check," said Scabior. "But they look like they could be 'ogwarts age-"

"We left," said Harry.

"Left, 'ave you, ugly?" said Scabior. "And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you'd use the Dark Lord's name?"

"It was an accident!" Hermione shrilled in panic.

"Accident?" There was more jeering laughter.

"You know who used to like using the Dark Lord's name, little lady?" cooed Greyback. "The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?"

"Doh," said Harry.

"Well they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name's been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them up with the other prisoners!"

Someone yanked Harry up by the hair, dragged him a short way, pushed him down into a sitting position, then started binding him back-to-back with other people. Harry was still half blinded, barely able to see anything through his puffed-up eyes. When at last the man tying them had walked away, Harry whispered to Hermione.

"Do you have a wand still got a want?"

"No," she replied from his right.

"This is all my fault. I said the name, I'm sorry-"

"Harry?"

It was a new, but familiar, voice, and it came from directly behind Harry, from the person tied to Hermione's right.

"_Dean?_"

"It _is _you! If they find out they've got-! They're Snatchers, they're only looking for truants to sell for gold-"

"Not a bad little haul for one night," Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by Harry and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. "A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and two truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?" he roared.

"Yeah. There's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere, Greyback."

"Interesting," said Greyback. "That's interesting."

He crouched down inside Harry, who saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between his swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted gray hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores at the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died: of dirt, sweat, and blood.

"So you aren't wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What House were you in at Hogwarts?"

"Slytherin," said Harry automatically.

"Funny 'ow they all thinks we wants to 'ear that," jeered Scabior out of the shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."

"It's in the dungeons," said Harry clearly. "You enter through the wall. It's full of skulls and stuff and it's under the lake, so the light's all green."

There was a short pause.

"Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught a little Slytherin," said Scabior. "Good for you, Vernon, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who's your father?"

"He works at the Ministry," Harry lied. He knew that his whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, he only had until his face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. "Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"You know what, Greyback," said Scabior. "I think there is a Dudley in there."

Harry could barely breath: Could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this? He tried looking around for Ron through the small slits, hoping he had found a way to free them or at least follow them.

"Well, well," said Greyback, and Harry could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry official. Harry's heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it. "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."

"But," said Harry, his mouth bone dry, "if you just let us-"

"Hey!" came a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this, Greyback,. Look at the Prophet!"

As Scabior said it, Harry's scar, which was stretched tight across his distended forehead, burned savagely. More clearly than he could make out anything around him, he saw a towering building, a grim fortress, jet-black and forbidding; Voldemort's thoughts had suddenly become razor-sharp again; he was gliding toward the gigantic building with a sense of calmly euphoric purpose...

_So close...So close..._

With a huge effort of will Harry closed his mind to Voldemort's thought, pulling himself back to where he sat, tried to Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Griphook in the darkness, listening to Greyback and Scabior.

" _'ermione Granger,'" _Scabior was saying. "'_the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with 'arry Potter.'"_

Harry's scar burned in the silence, but he made a supreme effort to keep himself present, not to slip into Voldemort's mind. He heard the creak of Greyback's boots as he crouched down in front of Hemrione.

"You know what, little girl? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."

"It isn't! It isn't me!"

Hermione's terrified squeak was as good as a confession.

"_'...known to be traveling with Harry Potter,'" _repeated Greyback quietly.

A stillness had settles over the scene. Harry's scar was exquisitely painful, but he struggled with all his strength against the pull of Voldemort's thoughts: It had never been so important to remain in his own right mind.

"Well, this changes things, doesn't it?" whispered Greyback. Nobody spoke: Harry sensed the gange of Snatchers watching, frozen, and felt Hermione's arm trembling aginst his. Greyback got up and took a couple of steps to where Harry sat, crouching down again to stare closely at his misshapen features.

"What's that on your forehead, Vernon?" he asked softly, his breath foul in Harry's nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taut scar.

"Don't touch it!" Harry yelled; he could not stop himself; he thought he might be sick from the pain of it.

"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?" breathed Greyback.

"I found glasses!" yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. "There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait-"

And seconds later Harry's glasses had been rammed back onto his face. The Snatchers were closing in now, peering at him.

"It is!" rasped Greyback. "We've caught Potter!"

They all took several steps backward, stunned by what they had done. Harry, still fighting to remain present inside his own splitting head, could think of nothing to say: Fragmented visions were breaking across the surface of his mind-

-_He was gliding around the high walls of the black fortress-_

No, he was Harry, tied up and wandless, in grave danger-

-_looking up, up to the topmost window, the highest tower-_

He was Harry, and they were discussing his fate in low voices-

-_Time to fly..._

"...to the Ministry?"

"To hell with the Ministry," growled Greyback. "They'll take the credit, and we won't get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who."

"Will you summon 'im? _'ere?_" said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.

"No," snarled Greyback. "I haven't got-they say he's using the Malfoys' place as a base. We'll take the boy there."

Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort's inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honor.

Harry's scar seared again-

-_and he rose into the night, flying straight up to the window at the very top of the tower-_

"...completely sure it's him? 'Cause if it ain't, Greyback, we're dead."

"Who's in charge here?" roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. "I say that's Potter, and him plus his wand, that's two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you're too gutless to come along, any of us, it's all for me, and with any luck, I'll get the girl thrown in!"

-_The window was the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a man to enter..A skeletal figure was just visible though it, curled beneath a blanket...Dead, or sleeping..."_

"Harry, Hermione," whispered Ron from Harry's left.

"Ron," murmured Harry, "quick you have to do something."

He heard Ron murmur a spell and what seemed like a rope breaking. Same thing happened to his rope, leaving Harry free to move his hands.

"We haven't got a wand," Harry said, trying his best to look through the thin slits.

"Hermione and I do," Ron replied as Harry felt a familiar pair of hands hold his hand.

"On the count of three you run to the south of us. We'll try to distract them as much as possible. One...two...three."

Harry began running as he heard bangs and yelps of surprise. He firmly held his grip on Hermione's hands as he tried paving the way. His scar began prickling again making his loose his footing so that he and Hermione slipped and fell.

-_as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapor, inside the cell-like room-_

"HARRY!" Hermione's voice yelled at him, bringing him back to the present. "Get up!"

Harry got back up and continued running in the same direction. He hadn't gone two feet before he hit a tree face first.

"Damn that spell of yours Hermione. It's keeping him from seeing," he heard Ron say furiously.

"Go hide Ron and follow them when they capture."

"Blimey! Like 'ell I'll let you two get captured," Ron said. Harry heard him send out more spells.

"Ron GO!" Hermione said. "Take the wand with you."

Harry heard a few spells land on the tree he had just hit so he ducked down.

"We surrender," He heard Hermoine say next to him. There was some rustling of the leaves as he heard the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting the flesh. Harry flew to his feet in order to protect Hermione but he felt a sharp sting begin on his left cheek bone.

"Troublesome gits," Greyback cursed as he lifted Harry up from his shirt. "If you weren't Harry Potter you wouldn't have had anything to fear."

Harry felt someone grab a hold of his foot as he felt himself being squeezed with the others. They landed in a country lane. Harry's eyes, still puffy, took a moment to acclimatize, the he saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive. He experienced the tiniesy trickle of relief. The worst had not happened yet: Voldemort was not here. He was, Harry knew, for he was fighting to resist the vision, in some strange, fortress like place, at the top of a tower. How long it would take Voldemort to get to this place, once he knew that Harry was here, was another matter...

One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them.

"How do we get in? They're locked, Greyback, I can't-blimey!"

He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice: "State your purpose!"

"We've got Potter!" Greyback roared triumphantly. "We've captured Harry Potter!"

The gates swung open.

"Come on!" said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps. Harry saw a ghostly white shape above him, and realized it was an albino peacock. He stumbled and was dragged onto his feet by Greyback; now he was staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back to the three other prisoners. Closing his puffy eyes, he allowed the pain in his scar to overcome him for a moment, wanting to know what Voldemort was doing, whether he knew yet that Harry was caught...

_The emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanked and rolled over toward him, eyes opening in a skyll of a face...The frail man sat up, great sunkedn eyes fixed upon him, upon Voldemort, and then he smiled. Most of his teeth were gone..._

"_So, you have come. I thought you would...one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it."_

"_You lie!"_

As Voldemort's anger throbbed inside him, Harry's scar threatened to burst with pain, and he wrenched his mind back to his own body, fighting to remain present as the prisoners were pushed over gravel.

Light spilled out over all of them.

"What is this?" said a woman's cold voice.

"We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" rasped Greyback.

"Who are you?"

"You know me!" There was resentment in the werewolf's voice. "Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry Potter!"

Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too.

"I know 'e's swollen, ma'am, but it's 'im!" piped up Scabior. "If you look a bit closer, you'll see 'is scar. And this 'ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who's been traveling around with 'im, ma'am. There's no doubt it's 'im, and we've got 'is wand as well! 'Ere, ma'am-"

Through his puffy eyelids Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing his swollen face. Scabior thrust the blackthorn wand at her. She raised her eyebrows.

"Bring them in," she said.

Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits.

"Follow me," said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. "My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know."

The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his yes almost closed Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.

"What is this?"

The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Harry's ears. He was panicking now: He could see no way out, and it was easier, as his fear mounted, to block out Voldemort's thoughts, through his scar was still burning.

"They say they've got Potter," said Narcissa's cold voice. "Draco, come here."

Harry did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely; a figure slightly taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blond hair.

Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place harry directly beneath the chandelier.

"Well, boy?" rasped the werewolf.

Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through the list of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place.

His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione's jinx. His black hair reaches his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his glasses. He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away; yet he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached.

"Well, Draco?" said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

"I can't-I can't be sure," said Draco. He was keeping his distance from Greyback and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!"

Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited.

"Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-"

"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" said Greyback menacingly.

"Of course not, of course not!" said Lucius impatiently. He approached Harry himself, came so close that Harry could see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail even through his swollen eyes. With his face a puffy mask, Harry felt as though he was peering out from between the bars of a cage.

"What did you do to him?" Lucius asked Greyback. "How did he get into this state?

"That wasn't us, except the few wounds he got there."

"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," said Lucius.

His gray eyes raked Harry's forehead.

"There's something there," he whispered, "it could be the scar, stretched tight...Draco, come here, look properly! What did you think?"

Harry saw Draco's face up close now, right beside his father's. They were extraordinarily alike, except that while his father looked beside himself with excitement, Draco's expression was full of reluctance, even fear.

"I don't know," he said, and he walked away toward the fireplace where his mother stood watching.

"We had better be certain, Lucius," Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. "Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord...They say this is his-" she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand-"but it does not resemble Ollivander's description...If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing...Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"

"What bout the Mudblood, then?" growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.

"Wait," said Narcissa sharply. "Yes-yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the _Prophet! _Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

"I...maybe...yeah."

The drawing room door opened behind Harry. A woman spoke, and the sound of the voice wound Harry's fear to even higher pitch.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"

Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners, and stopped on Harry's right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes.

"But surely," she said quietly, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" cried Lucius. "And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friend, caught at last!"

"Potter?" shrieked Bellatrix, and she backed away, the better to take in Harry. "Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"

She dragged back her left sleeve: Harry saw the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved master-

"I was about to call him!" said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix's wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. "_I_ shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority-"

"Your authority!" she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!"

"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy-"

"Begging your pardon, _Mr_. Malfoy," interjected Greyback, "but its us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll claiming the gold-"

"Gold!" laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his-of-"

She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something Harry could not see. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius threw her hand from him and ripped up his own sleeve-

"STOP!" shrieked Bellatrix. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"

Lucius froze, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strode out of Harry's limited line of vision.

"How did this get here?" he heard her ask.

"How did wha-woah! Bloody 'ell," grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher.

"It must've come with them," Bellatrix said. "How did you get this sword?"

"What sword?" Harry asked.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Bellatrix screeched. "_CRUTIO_!"

Harry felt an excruciating pain shoot through his body as he doubled back in pain. His screams could be heard rebounding through the room.

"Tell me HOW!" Bellatrix screamed.

"Stop it! Stop it please!" He heard Hermione plead. The pain stopped leaving Harry panting, trying to recuperate.

"How DARE YOU speak to me you filthy Mudblood! How dare YOU!" Bellatrix accused. "Take them down to the cellars. I want to speak to her in private."

"This is my house, Bell, you don't give orders in my-"

"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!" shrieked Bellatrix. She looked frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issued from her wand and burned a hole in the carpet.

Narcissa hesitated for a moment, then addressed the werewolf.

"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

She threw Greyback's wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.

"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her?" Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor.

Harry felt himself shaking as he remained silent. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not die away before there was a terrible, drawn-out scream from directly above them.

Harry felt a anger flow through him heavily as he hissed in anger. He could feel himself shaking from head to toe.

"Harry? Harry can you hear me?" Harry heard Ron say from the other side of the door.

"I can hear you Ron," Harry said, trying to get near the door.

"I'm so sorry Harry, the sword fell from my hand by accident! I swear-"

"Ron can you see if you can pass a wand to this side?" Harry interrupted.

"I threw the wand in with you before Greyback closed the door. See if you can find it."

"Harry?" came a whisper through the darkness. "Ron? Is that you?"

There was a sound of movement close by them, then Harry saw a shadow moving closer.

"Luna?"

"Yes, it's me! Oh no, I didn't want you to be caught!"

Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Harry could feel that steam would be coming out of his ears if it were possible. He was pissed, Hermione was up there getting tortured because of his big mouth. The anger threatened to consume him as he rolled his hands into a fist.

"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get the sword? _Where?"_

"We found it-we found it-PLEASE!" Hermione screamed again.

"Luna, can you try to find the wand and cut us loose," Harry said, in the most calm tone voice he could find within him.

Once she found it, she untied them all and lit up the place. He then turned around to see Luna's white face. He looked around and saw the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning around, he caught sight of their fellow prisoners: Dean and Griphook the goblin, who seemed barely conscious.

"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!"_

Another terrible scream.

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

"We need a plan, we need a plan now!" Harry said, walking over to Ollivander. "Sir? Mr. Ollivander are you alright? Do you know how to get out of here?"

" has been here the longest and he hasn't found a way out," Luna said.

"There must be a way out, there must be something!" Harry exclaimed. He was barely able to hold on to his anger.

Hermione was screaming again: The sound went through Harry like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of his scar, he started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for he hardly knew what, knowing in his heart that it was useless.

"What else did you take, what else? ANSER ME! _CRUCIO!"_

Hermione's screams echoed off the walls upstairs.

"_Bombarda Maxima_!" Harry hissed once he grabbed the wand from Luna and pointed it at the door. The curse threw them all back and Harry saw the door stand as if nothing happened. Harry in utter desperation seized Hagrid's pouch from around his neck and groped inside it: He pulled out Dumbledore's Snitch and shook it, hoping for he did not know what-nothing happened-he waved the broken halves of the phoenix wand, but they were lifeless-the mirror fragment fell sparkling to the floor, and he saw a gleam of brightest blue-

Dumbledore's eye was gazing at him out of the mirror.

"Help us!" he yelled at it in mad desperation. "We're in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!"

The eye blinked and was gone.

Harry was not even sure that it had really been there. He tilted the shard of mirror this way and that, and saw nothing reflected there but the walls and ceiling of their prison, and upstairs Hermione was screaming worse than ever.

"Ron! Ron see if you can find a way to get us out of here," Harry said through the door. There was no answer. "Ron? Are you there?" Still no answer.

"How did you get into my vault?" they heard Bellatrix scream. "Did the dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

"We only met him tonight!" Hermione sobbed. "We've never been inside your vault...It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy?" screeched Bellatrix. "Likely story!"

"But we can find out easily!" came Lucius's voice. "Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

"Stay back, when they come for him I'll..."

"Harry! Harry, let them take the goblin. He needs to tell them it's a fake." Ron whispered furiously.

Harry dashed across the cellar to where Griphook was huddled on the floor.

"Griphook," he whispered into the goblin's pointed ear, "you must tell them that sword's a fake, they mustn't know it's the real one, Griphook, please-"

He could hear someone scuttling down the cellar steps; next moment, Draco's shaking voice spoke from behind the door.

"Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything, or I'll kill you!"

They did as they were bidden; as the lock turned, Harry turned off the light emitting from the wand. The door flew open; Malfoy marched inside, wand held out in front of him, pale and determined. He seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging Griphook with him. The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar.

Luna turned the light back on, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who had just Apparated into their midst.

Dobby's enormous, tennis-ball-shaped eyes were wide; he was trembling from his feet to the tips of his ears. He was back in the home of his old masters, and it was clear that he was petrified.

"Harry Potter," he squeaked in the tiniest quiver of a voice, "Dobby has come to rescue you."

"But how did you-"

And awful scream drowned Harry's words: Hermione was being tortured again. He cut to the essentials.

"You can Disapparate out of this cellar?" he asked Dobby, who nodded, his ear flapping.

"And you can take humans with you?"

Dobby nodded again,

"Right. Dobby, I want you to grab Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander..."

"Harry, harry! Did the goblin agree? Is he going to lie?" Ron's voice said through the door.

"Ron! Dobby is here, he can get in and out of the cellar!" Harry replied.

"Blimey! Dobby you're a life saver! Tell him to take the others to Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth!"

The elf nodded for a third time.

"And then come back," said Harry. "Can you do that, Dobby?"

"Of course, Harry Potter," whispered the little elf. He hurried over to Mr. Ollivander, who appeared to be barely conscious. He took on of the wandmaker's hand in his own, then held out the other to Luna and Dean, neither of whom moved.

"Harry, we want to help you!" Luna whispered.

"We can't leave you here," said Dean.

"Go, both of you! We'll see you at Bill and Fleur's."

As Harry spoke, his scar burned worse than ever, and for a few seconds he looked down, not upon the wandmaker, but on another man who was just as old, just as thin, but laughing scornfully.

"_Kill me, then, Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek...There is so much you do not understand..."_

He felt Voldemort's fury, but as Hermione screamed again he shut it out, returning to the cellar and the horror of his own present.

"Go!" Harry beseeched Luna and Dean. "Go! We'll follow, just go!"

They caught hold of the elf's outstretched fingers. There was another loud _crack,_ and Dobby, Luna, Dean, and Ollivander vanished.

"What was that?" shouted Lucius Malfoy from over their heads. "Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?"

Harry stood still.

"Draco-no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!"

Footsteps crossed the room overhead, the there was silence. Harry knew that the people in the drawing room were listening for more noises from the cellar. Harry hoped Ron would be ready to attack as soon as he opened the door; taking out his own wand in preparation.

"Stand back," came Wormtail's voice. "Stand away from the door. I'm coming in."

The door flew open, for a split second Wormtail gazed at Harry standing before him with a wand in hand.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry whispered, pointing his wand at Wormtail. He froze up and dropped to the floor.

"What is it, Wormtail?" called Lucius Malfoy from above. Harry ran to the body, seeing Ron arrive before him.

"Nothing!" Ron called back, in a passable imitation of Wormtail's wheezy voice. "All fine!"

"What's the plan?" Harry asked Ron as he pried Wormtail's wand from his hand. From the looks of it, Ron hit him with the same spell.

"There are two openings to that room. You take one and I'll take the other. I'll see if I can confound some of them under the cloak." Ron said, throwing the cloak over himself. Harry heard him running ahead of him, as they silently made their way up the stairs and down the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room. Cautiously, Harry crept along it until they reached the drawing room door, which was ajar. Now he had a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at Griphook, who was holding Gryffindor's sword in his long-fingered hands. Hermione was lying at Bellatrix's feet. She was barely stirring.

'Well?" Bellatrix said to Griphook. "Is it the true sword?"

Harry waited, holding his breath, fighting against not only his prickling scar, but also his violent urge to rip Bellatrix's head off.

"No," said Griphook. "It is a fake."

"Are you sure?" panted Bellatrix. "Quite sure?"

"Yes," said the goblin.

Harry could see two of the Snatchers eyes suddenly go hazy. They whispered something to Greyback, whom waved them off without a glance.

"Good," Bellatrix said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut into the goblin's face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aide. "And now," she said in a voice that burst with triumph, "we call the Dark Lord."

And she pushed her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark.

At once, Harry's scar felt as though it had split open again. His true surroundings vanished: He was Voldemort, and the skeletal wizard before him was laughing toothlessly at him; he was enraged at the summons he felt-he had warned them, he had told them to summon him for nothing less than Potter. If they were mistaken...

"_Kill me then!" demanded the old man. "You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours-"_

And Voldemort's fury broke: A burst of green light filled the prison room and the frail old body was lifted from it's hard bed then feel back, lifeless, and Voldemort returned to the window, his wrath barely controllable...They would suffer his retribution if they had no good reason for calling him back...

"And I think," said Bellatrix's voice, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Harry burst through the drawing room; Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face him.

"_Expelliarmus!" _he roared, pointing the borrowed wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by Ron who managed to stun Greyback. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco wheeled about; Harry yelled "_Stupefy!"_ and Lucius Malfoy collapsed onto the hearth. Jets of light flew from Draco's, Narcissa's and Ron's wands; Harry threw himself to the floor, rolling behind a sofa to avoid them.

"STOP OF SHE DIES!"

Panting, Harry peered around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione's throat.

"Drop your wand," she whispered. "Drop it, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

"There is someone in this room as well," Lucius said but as soon as he finished that sentence Bellatrix dropped her knife and yelped in pain.

Without thinking, Harry yelled out, "_CRUCIO!"_

The spell hit Bellatrix with such a force, that Harry saw a blood coming out from her shoulder blade. Hermione dropped to the floor. Before Lucius, Narcissa or Malfoy could react they all heard a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; taking advantage of Harry's distraction she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crustal flew in all directions: Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face.

As Ron pulled Hermione out of the wreckage, Harry took his chance and yelled, "_Stupefy!"_ as he pointed his wand at Lucius, leaping over an armchair and taking Draco's wand from him.

As Narcissa dragged Draco out of the way of further harm, Bellatrix picked up the knife and sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife; but Narcissa had directed her wand at the doorway.

"Dobby!" she screamed, and even Bellatrix froze. "You! You dropped the chandelier-?"

The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.

"You must not hurt Harry Potter," he squeaked.

"Kill him, Cissy!" shrieked Bellatrix, but there was another loud _crack_ and Narcissa's wand too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.

"You dirty little monkey!" bawled Bellatrix. "How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"

"Dobby has no master!" squealed the elf. "Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"

Harry's scar was blinding him with pain. Dimly he knew that they had moments, seconds before Voldemort was with them.

"Hermione!" he yelled, as he looked around for her.

"I've got her, take Griphook and GO!" Ron replied.

Harry bent down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who still clung to the sword, over one shoulder, Harry seized Dobby's hand and spun on the spot to Disapparate.

As he turned into the darkness he caught one last view of the drawing room: of the pale, frozen figures of Narcissa and Draco, of the streak of red that was Ron's hair, and blur of flying silver, as Bellatrix's knife flew across the room at the place where he was vanishing-

_Bill and Fleur's...Shell Cottage...Bill and Fleur's..._

He had disappeared into the unknown; all he could do was repeat the name of the destination and hope that it would suffice to take him there. The pain in his forehead pierced him, and the weight of the goblin bore down upon him; he could feel the blade of Gryffindor's sword bumping against his back; Dobby's hand jerked in his; he wondered whether the elf was trying to take charge, to pull them in the right direction, and tried, by squeezing the fingers, to indicate that that was fine with him...

And then they hit solid earth and smelled salty air. Harry fell to his knees, relinquished Dobby's hand, and attempted to lower Griphook gently to the ground.

"Are you all right?" he said as the goblin stirred, but Griphook merely whimpered.

Harry squinted around the darkness. There seemed to be a cottage a short way away under the wide starry sky, and he thought hew saw movement inside it.

"Dobby, is this Shell Cottage?" he whispered, clutching the three wands he had brought from the Malfoy's, ready to fight if he need to. "Have we come to the right place, Dobby?"

He looked around. The little elf stood feet from him.

"DOBBY!"

The elf swayed slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. Together, he and Harry looked down as the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf's heaving chest.

"Dobby-no-HELP!" Harry bellowed toward the cottage, toward the people moving there, "HELP!"

He did not know or care whether they were wizards or Muggles, friends or foes; all he cared about was that a dark stain was spreading across Dobby's front, and that he had stretched out his thin arms to Harry with a look of supplication. Harry caught him and laid him sideways on the cool grass.

"Dobby, no, don't die-"

The elf's eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.

"Harry...Potter..."

And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than a great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

**A/N**: Hopefully I was able to eliminate most if not all grammatical/syntax errors that may appear. Next chapter should be done within this week if not next and thanks to those who've read and reviewed.


	9. Chapter 9: The Wandmaker

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Wandmaker

It was like sinking into an old nightmare; for an instant Harry knelt again beside Dumbledore's body at the foot of the tallest tower at Hogwarts, but in reality he was staring at a tiny body curled upon the grass, pierced by Bellatrix's silver knife. Harry's voice was still saying, "Dobby..._Dobby..._" even though he knew that the elf had gone where he could not call him back.

After a minute or so he realized that they had, after all, come to the right place, for here were Bill and Fleur, Dean and Luna, gathering around him as he knelt over the elf.

"Hermione?" he said suddenly. "Where is she?"

"Ron's taken her inside," said Bill. "She'll be all right."

Harry looked back down at Dobby. He stretched out a hand and pulled the sharp blade from the elf's body, then dragged off his own jacket and covered Dobby in it like a blanket.

The sea was rushing against rock somewhere nearby; Harry listened to it while the others talked, discussing matters in which he could take no interest, making decisions. Dean carried the injured Griphook into the house, Fleur hurrying with them; now Bill was making suggestions about burying the elf. Harry agreed without really knowing what he was saying. As he did so, he gazed down at the tiny body, and his scar prickled and burned, and in one part of his mind, viewed as if from the wrong end of a long telescope, he saw Voldemort punishing those they had left behind at Malfoy Manor. His rage was dreadful and yet Harry's grief for Dobby seemed to diminish it, so that it became a distant storm that reached Harry from across a vast, silent ocean.

"I want to do it properly," were the first words of which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. "Not by magic. Have you got a spade?"

"And shortly afterward he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Bill had shown him at the end of the garden between bushes. He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for ever drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives.

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out...though Dumbledore, of course, would have said it was love...

On Harry dug, deeper and deeper into the hard, cold earth, subsuming his grief in seat, denying the pain in his scar. In the darkness, with nothing but the sound of his own breath and the rushing sea to keep him company, the things that had happened at the Malfoy's returned to him, the things he had heard came back to him, and understanding blossomed in the darkness...

The steady rhythm of his arms beat time with his thoughts. Hallows...Horcruxes...Hallows...Hor-cruxes...Yet he no longer burned with that weird, obsessive longing. Loss and fear had snuffed it out: He felt as though he had been slapped awake again.

Deeper and deeper Harry sank into the grave, and he knew where Voldemort had been tonight, and whom he had killed int eh topmost cell of Nurmengard, and why...

Harry lost track of time. He knew only that the darkness had lightened a few degrees when he was rejoined by Ron and Dean.

"How's Hermione?"

"Better," said Ron. "Fleur's looking after her."

Harry had his retort ready for when they asked him why he had not simply created a perfect grave with his wand, but he did not need it. They jumped down into the hole he had made with spades of their own, and together they worked in silence until the hole seemed deep enough.

Harry wrapped the elf more snugly in his jacket. Ron sat on the edge of the rave and stripped off his shoes and socks, which he placed upon the elf's bare feet. Dean produced a woolen hat, which Harry placed carefully upon Dobby's head, muffling his batlike ears.

"We should close his eyes."

Harry had not heard the others coming through the darkness. Bill was wearing a traveling cloak, Fleur a large white apron, from the pocket of which protruded a bottle of what Harry recognized to be Skele-Gro. Hermione was wrapped in a borrowed dressing gown, pale and unsteady on her feet; Ron put an arm around her when she reached him. They exchanged glances, both giving each other a weak smile. Luna, who was huddled in one of Fleur's coats, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf's eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare.

"There," she said softly. "Now he could be sleeping."

Harry placed the elf into the grave, arranged his tiny limbs so that he might have been resting, then climbed out and gazed for the last time upon the little body. He forced himself not to break down as he remembered Dumbledore's funeral, and the rows and rows of golden chairs, and the Minister of Magic in the front row, the recitation of Dumbledore's achievements, the stateliness of the white marble tomb. He felt that Dobby deserved just as grand a funeral, and yet here the elf lay between bushes in a roughly dug hole.

"I think we ought to say something," piped up Luna. "Ill go first, shall I?"

And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave.

"Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I'll always remember what you did for us. I hope you're happy now."

She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, "Yeah...thanks, Dobby."  
"Thanks," muttered Dean.

Harry swallowed.

'Good-bye, Dobby," he said. It was all he could manage, but Luna had said it all for him. Bill raised his wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell nearly upon it, a small, reddish mound.

"D'you mind if I stay here a moment?" he asked the others.

They murmured words he did not catch; he felt gentle pats upon his back, and then they all traipsed back toward the cottage, leaving Harry and Hermione alone beside the elf. She stood on his right, he had his arms wrapped around her protectively.

He looked around: There were a number of large white stones, smoothed by the sea, marking the edge of the flowers beds. He picked up one of the largest and laid it, pillowlike, over the place where Dobby's head now rested. He then felt his pocket for a wand.

There were two in there. He had forgotten, lost track; he could not now remember whose wands these were; he seemed to remember wrenching them out of someone's hand. He selected the shorter of the two, which felt friendlier in this hand, and pointed it at the rock.

Slowly, under his murmured instruction, deep cuts appeared upon the rock's surface. He knew that Hermione could have done it more neatly, and probably more quickly, but he wanted to mark the spot as he had wanted to dig the grave. When Harry stood up again, the stone read:

HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF.

He looked down at his handiwork for a few seconds, then walked away, his scar still prickling a little, and his mind fill of those tings that had come to him in the grave, ideas that had taken shape in the darkness, ideas both fascinating and terrible.

They were all sitting in the living room when he entered the little hall, their attention focused upon Bill, who was talking. The room was light-colored, pretty, with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace. Harry did not want to drop mud upon the carpet, so he stood in the doorway, listening.

"...lucky that Ginny's on holiday. If she'd been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she's safe too."

He looked around and saw Harry and Hermione standing there.

"I've been getting them all out of the Burrow," he explained. "Moved them to Muriel's. The Death Eaters know Ron's with you now, they're bound to target the family-don't apologize," he added at the sight of Harry's expression "It was always a matter of time, Dad's been saying so for months. We're the biggest blood-traitor family there is."

"How are they protected?" asked Harry.

"Fidelius Charm. Dad's Secret-Keeper. And we've done it on this cottage too; I'm Secret-Keeper here. None of us can go to work, but that's hardly the most important thing now. Once Ollivander and Griphook are well enough, we'll move them to Muriel's too. There isn't much room here, but she's got plenty. Griphook's legs are on the mend, Fleur's given him Skele-Gro; we could probably move them in an hour or-"

"No," Harry said, and Bill looked startled. "I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It's important."

He heard the authority in his own voice, the conviction, the sense of purpose that had come to him as he dug Dobby's grave. All of their faces were turned toward him, looking puzzled.

"I'm going to wash," Harry told Bill, looking down at his hands, still covered in mud and Dobby's blood. "Then I'll need to see them, straightaway."

He set Hermione down on the sofa before walking into the little kitchen; to the basin beneath a window overlooking the sea. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold, as he washed, again following the train of thought that had come to him in the dark garden...

Dobby would never be able to tell them who had sent him to the cellar, but Harry knew what he had seen. A piercing blue eye had looked out of the mirror fragment, and then help had come. _Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it._

Harry dried his hands, impervious to the beauty of the scene outside the window and to the murmuring of the others in the sitting room. He looked out over the ocean and felt closer, this dawn, than ever before, closer to the heart of it all.

And still his scar prickled, and he knew that Voldemort was getting there too. Harry understood and yet did not understand. His instinct was telling him one thing, his brain quite another. The Dumbledore in Harry's head smiled, surveying Harry over the tips of his fingers, pressed together in prayer.

_You gave Ron the Deluminator. You understood him...You gave him a way back..._

_And if you knew them...What did you know about me, Dumbledore?_

_Am I meant to know, but not to seek? Did you know how hard I'd find that? Is that why you made it this difficult? So I'd have time to work that out?_

Harry stood quite still, eyes glazed, watching the place where a bright gold rim of dazzling sun was rising over the horizon. Then he looked down at his clean hands and was momentarily surprised to see the cloth he was holding in them. He set it down and returned to the hall, and as he did so, he felt his scar pulse angrily, and there flashed across his mind, swift as the reflection of a dragonfly over water, the outline of a building he knew extremely well.

Bill and Fleur were standing at the foot of the stairs.

"I need to speak to Griphook and Ollivander," Harry said.

"Now," said Fleur. "You will 'ave to wait, 'Arry. Zey are both ill, tired-"

"I'm sorry," he said without heat, "but it can't wait. I need to talk to them now. Privately- and separately. It's urgent."

"Harry, what the hell's going on?" asked Bill. "You turn up here with a dead house-elf and a half-conscious goblin, Hermione looks as though she's been tortured, and Ron's just refused to tell me anything-"

"We can't tell you what we're doing," said Harry flatly. "You're in the Order, Bill, you know Dumbledore left us a mission. We're not supposed to talk about it to anyone else."

Fleur made an impatient noise, but Bill did not look at her; he was staring at Harry. His deeply scarred face was hard to read. Finally Bill said, "All right. Who do you want to talk to first?"

Harry hesitated. He knew what hung on his decision. There was hardly any time left; now was the moment to decide: Horcruxes or Hallows?

"Griphook," Harry said. "I'll speak to Griphook first."

His heart was racing as if he had been sprinting and had just cleared an enormous obstacle.

"Up here, then," said Bill, leading the way.

Harry had walked up several steps before stopping and looking back.

"I need you two as well!" he called to Ron and Hermione, who had been skulking, half concealed, in the doorway of the sitting room.

They both moved into the light, looking oddly relieved.

"How are you?" Harry asked Hermione. "You were amazing-coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that-"

Hermione gave a weak smile, as he spread his arms for her to cuddle in. He kissed her in the forehead and gave her a gentle hug.

"What are we doing now, Harry?" he asked.

"You'll see. Come on."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed Bill up the steep stairs onto a small landing. Three doors led off it.

"In here," said Bill, opening the door into his and Fleur's room. It too had a view of the sea, now flecked with gold in the sunrise. "In 'ere," said Fleur, opening the door into hers and Bill's room. Harry sat Hermione down at the chair, sitting on the arm so she could rest upon him. Ron looked out the window, which had view of the sea, now flecked with gold in moved to the window, turned his back on the spectacular view, and waited, his arms folded.

Fleur reappeared helping Griphook walk to the bed. Griphook grunted thanks, and Fleur left, closing the door upon them all.

"I'm sorry to take you out of bed," said Harry. "How are your legs?"

"Much better now," replied the goblin.

They sat there staring at each other in silence. Harry noted the goblin's sallow skin, his long fingers, and his black eyes. Fleur had removed his shoes: His long feet were dirty. He was larger than a house-elf, but not by much. His domed head was much bigger than a human's.

"You probably don't remember-" Harry began.

"-that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?" said Griphook. "I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous."

Harry and the goblin looked at each other, sizing each other up. His scar still prickling. He wanted to get through this interview quickly, and at the same time was afraid of making a false move. While he tried to decide on the best way to approach his request, the goblin broke the silence.

"You buried the elf," he said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. "I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door."

"Yes," said Harry.

Griphook looked at him out of the corners of his slanting black eyes.

"You're a very unusual wizard."

"In what way?" asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently.

"You dug the grave."

"So?"

Griphook did not answer. Harry rather thought he would be sneered at for acting like a Muggle, but it did not much matter to him whether Griphook approved of Dobby's grave or not. He gathered himself for the attack.

"Griphook, I need to ask-"

"You also rescued a goblin."

"What?"

"You brought me here. Saved me."

"Well, I take it you're not sorry?" said Harry a little impatient.

"No, Harry Potter," said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin black beard upon his chin, "but you are a very odd wizard."

"Right," said Harry. "Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me."

The goblin made no sign of encouragement, but continued to frown at Harry as though he had never seen anything like him.

"I need to break into Gringotts."

Harry had not meant to say it so baldly; the words were forced from his as pain shot through lightening scar and he saw, again, the outline of Hogwarts. He closed his mind firmly. He needed to deal with Griphook first. Ron and Hermione were staring at Harry as though he had gone mad.

"Harry-" said Hermione, but she was cut off by Griphook.

"Break into a Gringotts vault?" the goblin repeated, wincing a little as he shifted his position upon the bed. "It is impossible."

"No, it isn't," Ron contradicted him. "It's been done."

"Yeah," said Harry. "The same day I first met you, Griphook My birthday, seventeen years ago."

"The vault in question was empty at the time," snapped the goblin, and Harry understood that even though Griphook had left Gringotts, he was offended at the idea of its defenses being breached. "Its protection was minimal."

"Well, the vault we need to get into isn't empty, and I'm guessing its protection will be pretty powerful," said Harry. "It belongs to the Lestranges"

He saw Hermione and Ron look at each other, astonished, but there would be time enough to explain after Griphook had given his answer.

"You have no chance," said Griphook flatly. "No chance at all. _If you seek beneath our floors, the treasure that was never yours-"_

"_Thief, you have been warned, beware-_yeah, I know, I remember," said Harry. "But I'm not trying to get myself any treasure; I'm not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?"

The goblin looked slantwise at Harry, and the lightning scar on Harry's head prickled, but he ignored it, refusing to acknowledge its pain or its invitation.

"If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain," said Griphook finally, "it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and elves are not used to protection or the respect that you have shown recently. Not from wand-carriers."

"Wand-carriers," repeated Harry: The phrase fell oddly upon his ears as his scar prickled.

"The right to carry a wand," said the goblin quietly, "has long been contested between wizards and goblins."

"Well, goblins can do magic without wands," said Ron.

"That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magical beings; they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!"

"Well, goblins won't share any of their magic either," said Ron. "You won't tell us how to make swords and armor the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in a way wizards have never-"

"It doesn't matter," said Harry, noting Griphook's rising color. "This isn't about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature-"

Griphook gave a nasty laugh.

"But it is, it is about precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts fell over under Wizarding rule, house-elves were slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protest?"

"We do!" said Hermione. She had sat up straight, her eyes bright. "We protest! And I'm hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I'm a Mudblood!"

"Don't call yourself-"Ron muttered.

"Why shouldn't I?" said Hermione. "Mudblood, and proud of it! I've got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free?" she asked. "Did you know that we've wanted elves to be freed for years? You can't want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook! He killed Harry's parents!"

The goblin gazed at Hermione with the same curiosity he has shown Harry.

"What do you seek within the Lestrange's vault?" he asked abruptly. "The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one." He looked from one to the other of them. "I think you already know this. You asked me to lie for you back there."

"A way to destroy You-Know-Who," Harry said uncomfortably. He really didn't like to say that. "You may have seen things in the vault that-"

"It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of the fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers."

The goblin stroked the sword, and his black eyes roved from Harry to Hermione to Ron and then back again.

"So young," he said finally, "to be fighting so many."

"Will you help us?" said Harry. "We haven't got a hope of breaking in without a goblin's help. You're our one chance."

"I shall…think about it," said Griphook maddeningly.

"Thank you," said Harry.

"I think," he said, settling himself ostentatiously upon Bill and Fleur's bed, "that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me..."

"Yeah of course, said Harry, but before leaving the room he leaned forward and took the sword of Gryffindor from beside the goblin. Griphook did not protest, but Harry thought he saw resentment in the goblin's eyes as he closed the door upon them.

"Little git," whispered Ron. "He's enjoying keeping us hanging."

"Harry," whispered Hermione, pulling them both away from the door, into the middle of the still-dark landing, "are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you saying there's a Horcrux in the Lestranges' vault?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we'd been in there, she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we'd seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about.

"But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who's been, places he's done something important?" said Ron, looking baffled. "Was he ever inside Lestranges' vault?"

"I don't know whether he was ever inside Gringotts," said Harry. "He never had gold there when he was younger, because nobody left him anything. He would have seen the bank from the outside, though, the first time he ever went to Diagon Alley."

Harry's scar throbbed, but he ignored it; he wanted Ron and Hermione to understand about Gringotts before they spoke to Ollivander.

"I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he'd have seen it as real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding world. And don't forget, he trusted Bellatrix and her husband. They were his devoted servants before he fell, and they went looking for him after he vanished. He said it the night he came back, I heard him."

He rubbed his scar.

"I don't think he'd have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though. He never told Lucius Malfoy the truth about the diary. He probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me…except Hogwarts."

When Harry had finished speaking, Ron shook his head.

"You really understand him."

"Bit of him," said Harry. "Bit…I just wish I'd understood Dumbledore as much. But we'll see. Come on-Ollivander now."

Ron and Hermione looked bewildered but impressed as they followed him across the little landing and knocked upon the door opposite Bill and Fleur's. A weak "Come in!" answered them.

The wandmaker was lying on the twin bed farthest from the window. He had been held in the cellar for more than a year, and tortured, Harry knew, on at least one occasion. He was emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket could have belonged to the skeleton. Harry sat down on the empty bed beside Ron and Hermione. The rising sun was not visible here.

"Mr. Ollivander, I'm sorry to disturb you," Harry said.

"My dear boy." Ollivander's voice was feeble. "You rescued us. I thought we would die in that place. I can never thank you…_never_ thank you…enough."

"We were glad to do it."

Harry's scar throbbed. He knew, he was certain, that there was hardly any time left in which to beat Voldemort to his goal, or else to attempt to thwart him. He felt a flutter of panic…yet he had made his decision when he chose to speak to Griphook first. Feigning a calm he did not feel, he groped his pouch around his neck and took out the two halves of his broken wand.

"Mr. Ollivander, I need some help."

"Anything. Anything," said the wandmaker weakly.

"Can you mend this? Is it possible?"

Ollivander held out a trembling hand, and Harry placed the two barely connected halves into his palm.

"Holly and phoenix feather," said Ollivander in a tremulous voice. "Eleven inches. Nice and supple."

"Yes," said Harry. "Can you-"

"No," whispered Ollivander. "I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any mean I know of."

Harry had been braced to hear it, but it was a blow nevertheless. He took the wand halves back and replaced them in the pouch around his neck. Ollivander stared at the place where the shattered wand had vanished, and did not look away until Harry had taken from his pocket the two wands he had brought from the Malfoy's.

"Can you identify these?" Harry asked.

The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.

"Walnut and dragon heartstring," he said. "Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange"

"And this one?"

Ollivander performed the same examination.

"Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy."

"Was?" repeated Harry. "Isn't it still his?"

"Perhaps not. If you took it-"

"-I did-"

"-then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand had been won, its allegiance will change.

There was silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.

"You talk about wands like they've got feelings," said Harry, "like they can think for themselves."

"The wand chooses the wizard," said Ollivander. "That much had always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore.

"But can a person still use a wand that hasn't chosen them?"

He saw Hermione looking at him curiously.

"Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand."

The sea gushed forward and backward; it was a mournful sound.

"I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force," said Harry. "Can I use it safely?"

"I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master."

"So I should use this one?" said Ron, putting Wormtail's wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.

"Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine-and-a-quarter inches. Brittle. I was forced to make this shortly after my kidnapping, for Peter Pettigrew. Yes, if you've won it, it is more likely to do your bidding, and do it well, than another wand."

"And that holds true for all wands, does it?" asked Harry.

"I think so," replied Ollivander, his protuberant eyes upon Harry's face. "You ask deep question, Mr. Potter. Wandlore is complex and mysterious branch of magic."

"So, it isn't necessary to kill the previous owner to take true possession of a wand?" asked Harry.

Ollivander swallowed.

"Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill."

"There are legends, though," said Harry, and his heart rate quickened, the pain of his scar became more intense; he was sure that Voldemort had decided to put his idea into action. "Legends about a wand-or-wands-that have passed from hand to hand by murder."

Ollivander turned pale. Against his snowy pillow he was light gray, and his eyes were enormous, bloodshot, and bulging with what looked like fear.

"Only one wand, I think," he whispered.

"And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn't he?" asked Harry.

"I-how?" croaked Ollivander, and he looked appealingly at Ron and Hermione for help. "How do you know this?"

"He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands," said Harry.

Ollivander looked terrified.

"He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I-I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!"

"I understand," said Harry. "You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard's wand?"

Ollivander looked horrified, transfixed, by the amount that Harry knew. He nodded slowly.

"But it didn't work," Harry went on. "Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why it is?"

Ollivander shook his head as slowly as he had just nodded.

"I had…never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand should have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know…"

"We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When You-Know-Who realized my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn't he?"

"How do you know this?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Yes, he asked," whispered Ollivander. "He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand variously known as the Deathstick the Wand of Destiny, or the Elder Wand."

Harry glanced sideways at Hermione. She looked flabbergasted.

"The Dark Lord," said Ollivander in hushed and frightened tones, "had always been happy with the wand I made him-yew and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half-inches-until he discovered the connection of the twin cores. Now he seeks another, more powerful wand, as the only to conquer yours."

"But he'll know soon, if he doesn't already, that mine's broken beyond repair," said Harry, his hand hovering over Hermione's to calm her down.

"No!" said Hermione, sounding frightened. "He can't know that, Harry, how could he-"

"Priori Incantatem," said Harry. "We left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys', Hermione. If hey examine them properly, make them re-create the spells they've cast lately, they'll see that yours broke mine, they'll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they'll realize that I've been using the blackthorn one ever since."

"The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr. Potter. He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable."

"And will it?"

"The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack," said Ollivander, "but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit…formidable."

Harry was suddenly reminded of how he had been unsure, when they first met, of how much he like Ollivander. Even now, having being tortured and imprisoned by Voldemort, the idea of the Dark wizard in possession of this wand seemed to enthrall him as much as it repulsed him.

"You-you really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?" asked Hermione.

"Oh yes," said Ollivander. "Yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand's course through history. There are gaps, of course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but always it resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognize. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, and I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have a ring of authenticity."

"So you-you don't think it can be a fairy tale or a myth?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"No," said Ollivander. "Whether it _needs_ to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands."

"Mr. Ollivander," said Harry, "you told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn't you?"

Ollivander turned, if possible, even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped.

"But how-how do you-?"

"Never mind how I know it," said Harry. "You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?"

"It was rumor," whispered Ollivander. "A rumor, years and years ago, long before you were born! I believe Gregorovitch himself started it. You can see how good it would be for business: that he was studying and duplicated the qualities of the Elder Wand!"

"Yes, I can see that," said Harry. He stood up. "Mr. Ollivander one last thing, and then we'll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"

"The-the what?" asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.

"The Deathly Hallows."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?"

Harry looked into the sunken face and believed that Ollivander was not acting. He did not know about the Hallows.

"Thank you," said Harry. "Thank you very much. We'll leave you to get some rest now."

Ollivander looked stricken.

"He was torturing me!" he gasped. "The Cruciatus Curse…you have no idea…"

"I do," said Harry. "I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this."

He led Ron and Hermione down the staircase. Harry caught a glimpse of Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They all looked up at Harry as he appeared in the doorway, but he merely nodded to them and continued into the garden, Ron and Hermione behind him Harry walked to the edge of the cliff, overlooking the ocean. It was a huge effort now to close down the visions that were forcing themselves upon him, but he knew that he would have to resist only a little longer. He would yield very soon, because he needed to know that his theory was right He must make only one more short effort, so that he could explain to Hermione and Ron.

"Gregorovitch has the Elder Wand a long time ago," he said. "I saw You-Know-Who trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn't have it anymore: It was stolen from him by Grindelwald. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don't know-but it Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumor, it can't have been difficult."

"Voldemort was at the gates of Hogwarts; Harry could see him standing there, and see too the lamp bobbing in the pre-dawn, coming closer and closer.

"And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he dueled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand."

"_Dumbledore_ had the Elder Wand?" said Ron. "But the-where is it now?"

"At Hogwarts," said Harry, fighting to remain with them in the cliff-top garden.

"But then, let's go!" said Ron urgently. "Harry, let's go and get it before he does!"

"It's too late for that," said Harry. He could not help himself, but clutched his head, trying to resist. "He knows where it is. He's there now."

"Harry!" Ron said furiously. "How long have you know this-why have we been wasting time? Why did you talk to Griphook first? We could have gone-we could still go-"

"No," said Harry, and he sank to his knees in the grass. "Hermione's right. Dumbledore didn't want me to have it. He didn't want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes."

"The unbeatable wand, Harry!" moaned Ron.

"I'm not supposed to…I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes…"

And now everything was cool and dark: The sun was barely visible over the horizon as he glided alongside Snape, up through the grounds toward the lake.

"I shall join you in the castle shortly," he said in his high, cold voice. "Leave me now."

Snape bowed and set off back up the path, his black cloak blowing behind him. Harry walked slowly, waiting for Snape's figure to disappear. It would not do for Snape, or indeed anyone else, to see where he was going. But there were no lights in the castle windows, but he could conceal himself…and in a second he had cast upon himself the Disillusionment Charm that hid him even from his eyes.

And he walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outlines of the beloved castle, his first kingdom, his birthright…

And here it was, beside the lake, reflecting in the dark waters. The white marble tomb, an unnecessary blot in the familiar landscape. He felt again that rush of controlled euphoria, that heady sense of purpose of destruction. He raised the old yew wand: How fitting that this would be its last great act.

The tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long and thin as it had been in life. He raised the wand again.

The wrappings fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved. They had left his spectacles on the crooked nose: He felt amused derision. Dumbledore's hands were folded upon his chest, and there it lay, clutched beneath him, buried with him.

Had the fool imagined that marble or death would protect the wand? Had he thought the Dark Lord would be scared to violate his tomb? The spiderlike hand swooped and pulled the wand from Dumbledore's grasp, and as he took it, a shower of sparks flew from its tip, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner, ready to serve a new master at last.


	10. Chapter 10: Shell Cottage

Chapter Twenty-Five: Shell Cottage

They headed back to Bill and Fleur's Cottage, where they stayed downstairs to talk to Luna and Dean. Harry and Hermione slowly sunk into the background and headed upstairs to the guest's bedroom. Hermione casted a silencing spell over the room so that they couldn't be heard. They laid down on the bed, cuddling as Harry traced the scars that Bellatrix gave her.

"Harry, thank you for not going for the wand first," Hermione said after a few minutes of silence. Harry just nodded his head, his mind deep in thought. "I know how much you and Ron want it but it's an evil object. You wouldn't have been able to have done what You-Know-Who did."

"I know," Harry replied. He looked at her in eyes before kissing her passionately. He held her close to him, while his tongue explored her all too familiar mouth.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione said, pulling away from him slightly.

"I just...it just angers me that we got caught because of me. If I hadn't said his name we wouldn't have gotten caught and you would've never been tortured."

"Harry, don't say that. It was an accident, you didn't know," Hermione said, caressing his face. They looked at each other; Harry with eyes of guilt, while Hermione with eyes of love.

"She's going to pay for having done this to you," Harry said with a shaking voice. Hermione but a finger on his lips before kissing him again.

"You can start making her pay by taking my knickers off," Hermione said with a mischevious smile.

She grabbed on to Harry's crotch as she started sucking on his neck. Harry pushed her back onto the bed so that she straddle on to his waist, making it easier for him to rub their privates together. As their snog deepened they became breathless, gasping for air. Harry ripped open her shirt and started caressing her exposed skin in excitement. He kissed her neck as he undid her bra, making her moan with pleasure. He had gotten good at sucking her neck without leaving a mark, it was something he found to be proud of.

"I guess now, we both have scars," Hermione said once they were both naked. Harry looked at her and his heart felt like it would burst through his chest.

"Yes, now we both do," Harry breathed. Something was different this time between them, something had changed and Harry liked it. In a way, they became more connected, more imbedded upon each other. It was more pleasurable to be inside her, to hear her scream out his name. If souls existed, Harry was certain that his and Hermione's were now joined together for the rest of eternity; just like their hearts that beat in one.

"'Arry?" Fleur's voice came out one evening. Harry, Hermione and Ron had stayed in the cottage for a few days, awaiting the verdict of Griphoook.

"'Arry, Grip'ook would like to speak to you. 'E eez in ze smallest bedroom, 'e says 'e does not want to be over'eard."

Her dislike of the goblin sending her to deliver messages was clear; she look irritable as she walked around the house. They had been on cliff overlooking the sea. Harry liked to be there more than inside the crowded cottage. Sometimes he'd be there alone with his thoughts, others he had to hear Ron and Hermione bickering about the decision he had made in regards to the Elder Wand.

Griphook was waiting for them, as Fleur had said, in the tiniest of the cottage's three bedrooms, in which Hermione and Luna slept by night. Harry and Hermione had decided to be respectful and not flaunder themselves all over the cottage; except for that one time of course. Griphook had drawn the red cotton curtains against the bright, cloudy sky, which gave the room a fiery glow at odds with the rest of the airy, light cottage.

"I have reached my decision, Harry Potter," said the goblin, who was sitting cross-legged in the low chair, drumming its arms with his spindly fingers. "Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you-"

"That's great!" said Harry, relief surging through him. "Griphook, thank you, we're really-"

"-in return," said the Goblin firmly, "for payment."

Slightly taken aback, Harry hesitated.

"How much do you want? I've got gold."

"Not gold," said Griphook. "I have gold."

His black eyes glittered; there were no whites to his eyes.

"I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor."

"Harry's spirits plummeted.

"You can't have that," he said, "I'm sorry."

"Then," said the goblin softly, "we have a problem."

"We can give you something else," said Ron eagerly. "I'll bet the Lestranges have got loads of stuff, you can take your pick once we get into the vault."

He said the wrong thing. Griphook flushed with anger.

"I am not a thief, boy! I am not trying to procure treasures to which I have no right!"

"The sword's ours-"

"It is not," said the goblin.

"We're Gryffindors, and it was Godric Gryffindor's-"

"And before it was Gryffindor's, whose was it?" demanded the goblin, sitting up straight.

"No one's," said Ron. "It was made for him, wasn't it?"

"No!" cried the goblin, bristling with anger as he pointed a long finger at Ron. "Wizarding arrogance again! That sword was Ragnuk the First's, taken from him by Godric Gryffindor! It is a lost treasure, a masterpiece of goblinwork! It belongs with the goblins! The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!"

"Griphook glared at them. Harry glanced at the other two, then said, "We need to discuss this, Griphook, if that's all right. Could you give us a few minutes?"

The goblin nodded, looking sour.

Downstairs in the empty sitting room, Harry walked to the fireplace, brow furrowed, trying to think what to do. Behind him, Ron said, "He's having a laugh. We can't let him have that sword."

"It is true?" Harry asked Hermione. "Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?"

"I don't know," she said hopelessly. "Wizarding history often skates over what the wizards have done to other magical races, but there's no account that I know of that says Gryffindor stole the sword."

"It'll be one of those goblin stories," said Ron, "about how the wizards are always trying to get one over on them. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky he hasn't asked for one of our wands."

"Goblins have a good reason to dislike wizards, Ron," said Hermione. "They've been treated brutally in the past."

"Goblins aren't exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they?" said Ron. "They've killed plenty of us. They fought dirty too."

"But arguing with Griphook about whose race is most underhanded and violent isn't going to make him more likely to help us, is it?"

There was a pause while they tried to think of a way around the problem. Harry looked out the window at Dobby's grave. Luna was arranging sea lavander in a jam jar beside the headstone.

"Okay," said Ron, and Harry turned back to face him, "how's this? We tell Griphook we need the sword until we can get inside the vault, and then he can have it. There's a fake in there, isn't there? We switch them, and give him the fake."

"Ron, he'd know the difference better than we would!" said Hermione. "He's the only one who realized there had been a swap!"

"Yeah, but we could scraper before he realizes-"

He quailed beneath the look Hermione was giving him.

"That," she said quietly, "is despicable. Ask for his help, then double-cross him? And you wonder why goblins don't like wizards, Ron?"

Ron's ears had turned red.

"We'll give it back to him when we're done with it. What's your solution?"

"We need to offer him something else, something just as valuable."

"Brilliant. I'll go and get one of our ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift wrap it."

Silence fell between them again. Harry was sure the goblin would accept nothing but the sword, even if they had something as valuable to offer him. Yet the sword was their one, indispensable weapon against the Horcruxes.

He closed his eyes for a moment or tow and listened to the rush of the sea. The idea of Gryffindor might have stolen the swords was unpleasant to him. He had always been proud to be a Gryffindor; Gryffindor had been the champion of Muggle-borns, the wizard who had clashed with the pureblood-loving Slytherin..."

"Maybe he's lying," Harry said, opening his eyes again. "Griphook. Maybe Gryffindor didn't take the sword. How do we know the goblin version of history's right?"

"Does it make a difference?" asked Hermione.

"Changes how I feel about it," said Harry.

He took a deep breath.

"We'll tell him he can have the sword after he's helped us get into that vault-but we'll be careful to avoid telling him exactly _when_ he can have it."

A grin spread slowly across Ron's face. Hermione, however, looked alarmed.

"Harry, we can't-"

"He can have it," Harry went on. "after we've used it on all our Horcruxes like Ron suggested. I'll make sure he gets it then. I'll keep my word."

"But that could be years!" said Hermione.

"I know that, but _he _needn't. I won't be lying...really."

Harry met her eyes with a mixture of defiance and shame. He remembered the words that had been engraved over the gateway to Nurmengard: For the Greater Good. He pushed the idea away. What choice did they have?

"I don't like it," said Hermione.

"Nor do I, much," Harry admitted.

"Well, I think it's genius," said Ron, standing up again. "Let's go and tell him."

Back in the smallest room, Harry made the offer, careful to phrase it so as not to give any definite time for the handover of the sword. Hermione frowned at the floor while he was speaking; he felt irritated by her, afraid that she might give the game away. However, Griphook had eyes for nobody but Harry.

"I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Then shake," said the goblin, holding out his hand.

"Before we shake, there's something I must tell you. Well more like ask of you," Harry said suddenly. He could feel Hermione and Ron's eyes on him. He thought about the Dobby's grave, his body lying beneath the ground in peace.

"Go on," Griphook said.

"What we want down at the vault, well it's something relating to dark magic. I can't tell you much, but I can tell you that it will help us defeat You-Know-Who," Harry said, blocking out their reactions.

Griphook gave him a look of interest. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You can see that I'm a fairly sensible wizard. I give you my word that in exchange for your help, we'll give you the sword. But, I sort of need it until I have defeated You-Know-Who."

Silence fell upon them all for a while, the goblin was deep in thought.

"I know it's a lot to ask from you. But it would be nice if you would let us keep it until we have defeated him. Right when this is all over, I'll make it my first priority to return this sword you," Harry said after some time. He was trying to keep calm even though he was sweating on the inside.

Griphook looked at them all inspectantly. Harry was sure that Griphook was going to decline his offer and Harry wished he hadn't said anything.

"If there is one wizard, whom I would believe to keep his word, it would be you Mr. Potter," Griphook finally said, and Harry could feel the relief in the air. Griphook held his hand out in the air and Harry took it and shook. Then Griphook relinquished him, clapping his hands together, and said, "So. We begin!"

It was like planning to break into the Ministry all over again. They settled to work in the smallest bedroom, which was kept, according to Griphook's preference, in semidarkness.

"I have visited the Lestrange's vault only once," Griphook told them, "on the occasion I was told to place inside the false sword. It is one of the most ancient chambers. The oldest wizarding families store their treasures at the deepest level, where the vaults are largest and best protected..."

They remained shut in the cupboard like room for hours at a time. Slowly the days stretched into weeks. There was problem after problem to overcome, not least of which was that their store of Polyjuice Potion was greatly depleted.

"There's really only enough left for one of us," said Hermione, tilting the thick mudlike potion against the lamplight.

"That'll be enough," said Harry, who was examining Griphook's hand-drawn map of the deepest passageways.

The other inhabitants of Shell Cottage could hardly fail to notice that something was going on now that Harry, Ron and Hermione only emerged for mealtimes. Nobody asked questions, although Harry often felt Bill's eyes on the three of them at the table, thoughtful, concerned.

The longer they spent together, the more Harry realized that he did not much like the goblin. Griphook was unexpectedly blood-thirsty, laughed at the idea of pain in lesser creatures, and seemed to relish the possibility that they might have to hurt other wizards to reach the Lestrange's vault. Harry could tell that his distaste was shared by the other two, but they did not discuss it: They needed Griphook. Harry thought that perhaps being upfront and truthful to him, was not the best of ideas as Ron would consistantly tell him.

The goblin ate on grudgingly with the rest of them. Even after his legs had mended, he continued to request trays of food in his room, like the still-frail Ollivander, until Bill (following an angry outburst from Fleur) went upstairs to tell him that the arrangement could not continue. Thereafter Griphook joined them at the overcrowded table, although he refused to eat the same food, insisting, instead, on lumps of raw meat, roots, and various fungi.

Harry felt responsible: It was, after all, he who had insisted that the goblin remain at Shell Cottage so that he could question him; his fault that the whole Weasley family had been driven into hiding, that Bill, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley could no longer work.

"I'm sorry," he told Fleur, one blustery April evening as he helped her prepare dinner. "I never meant you to have to deal with all of us."

She had just set some knives to work, chopping up steaks for Griphook and Bill, who had preferred his meat bloody ever since he had been attacked by Greyback. While the knives sliced away behind her, her somewhat irritable expression softened.

"'Arry, you saved my sister's life, I do not forget."

This was not, strictly speaking, true, but Harry decided against reminding her that Gabrielle had never been in real danger.

"Anyway," Fleur went on, pointing her wand at a pot of sauce on the stove, which began to bubble at once, "Mr. Ollivander leaves us for Muriel's zis evening. Zat will make zings easier. Ze goblin," she scowled a little at the mention of him, "can move downstairs, and you, Ron, and Dean can take zat room."

"We don't mind sleeping in the living room," said Harry, who knew that Griphook would think poorly of having to sleep on the sofa; keeping Griphook happy was essential to their plans. "Don't worry about us." And when she tried to protest he went on, "We'll be off your hands soon too, Hermione, Ron, and I. We don't need to be here much longer."

"But what do you mean?" she said, frowning at him, her wand pointing at the casserole dish now suspended in midair. "Of course you must not leave, you are safe 'ere!"

She looked rather like Mrs. Weasley as she said it, and he was glad that the back door opened at that moment. Luna and Ron entered, their hair damp from the rain outside and their arms full of driftwood.

"...and tiny little ears," Luna said saying, "a bit like a hippo's, Daddy says, only purple and hairy. And if you want to call them, you have to hum; they prefer a waltz, nothing too fast..."

Giving Harry a grin, they went into the combined dining and sitting room where Dean and Hermione were laying the dinner table. Seizing the chance to escape Fleur's questions, Harry grabbed two jugs of pumpkin juice and followed them.

"...and if you ever come to our house I'll be able to show you the horn, Daddy wrote to me about it but I haven't seen it yet, because the Death Eaters took me from the Hogwarts Express and I never got home for Christmas," Luna was saying, as she and Dean relaid the fire.

"Luna, we told you," Hermione called over to her. "That horn exploded. It came from Erumpent, not a Crumple-Horned Snorback-"

"No, it was definitely a Snorback horn," said Luna serenely. "Daddy told me. It will probably have re-formed by now, they mend themselves, you know."

Hermione shook her head and continued laying down forks as Bill appeared, leading Mr. Ollivander down the stairs. The wandmaker still looked exceptionally frail, and he clung to Bill's arm as the latter supported him, carrying a large suitcase.

"I'm going to miss you, Mr. Ollivander," said Luna, approaching the old man.

"And I you, my dear," said Ollivander, patting her on the shoulder. "You were an inexpressible comfort to me in that terrible place."

"So, _au revoir_, Mr. Ollivander," said Fleur, kissing him on both cheek. "And I wonder whezzer you could oblige me by delivering a package to Bill's Auntie Muriel? I never returned 'er tiara."

"It will be an honor," said Ollivander with a little bow, "the very least I can do in return for your generous hospitality."

Fleur drew out a worn velvet case, which she opened to show the wandmaker. The tiara sat glittering and twinkling in the light from the low-hanging lamp.

"Moonstones and diamonds," said Griphook, who had sidled into the room without Harry noticing. "Made by goblins, I think?"

"And paid for by wizards," said Bill quietly, and the goblin shot him a look that was both furtive and challenging.

A strong wind gusting against the cottage windows as Bill and Ollivander set off into the night. The rest of them squeezed in around the table; elbow to elbow and with barely enough room to move, they started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate beside them. Fleur, Harry noticed, was merely playing with her food; she glanced at the window every few minutes; however, Bill returned before they had finished their first course, his long hair tangled by the wind.

"Everything's fine," he told Fleur. "Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny sends you all her love. Fred and George are driving Muriel up the wall, they're still operating an Owl-Order business out of her back room. It cheered her up to have her tiara back, though. She said she thought we'd stolen it."

"Ah, she eez _charmante_, your aunt," said Fleur crossly, waving her wand and causing the dirty plates to rise and form a stack in midair. She caught them and marched out of her room.

"Daddy's made a tiara," piped up Luna. "Well, more of a crown, really."

Ron caught Harry's eye and grinned; Harry knew that he was remembering the ludicrous headdress they had seen on their visit to Xenophilius.

"Yes, he's trying to re-create the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. He think he's identified most of the main elements now. Adding the billywig wings really made a difference-"

There was a bang on the front door. Everyone's head turned toward it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen, looking frightened; Bill jumped to his feel, his wand pointing at the door; Harry, Ron and Hermione did the same. Silently Griphook slipped beneath the table, out of sight.

"Who is it?" Bill called.

"It is I, Remus John Lupin!" called the voice over the howling wind. Harry experienced a thrill of fear' what had happened? "I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret-Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!

"Lupin," muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open.

Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in the traveling cloak, his graying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud, "It's a boy! We've named him Ted, after Dora's father!"

Hermione shrieked.

"Wha-? Tonks-Tonks has had the baby?"

"Yes, yes, she's had a baby!" shouted Lupin. All around the table came cries of delight,sighs of relief: Hermione and Fleur both squealed, "Congratulations!" and Ron said, "Blimey, a baby!" as if he had never heard of such a thing before.

"Yes-yes-a boy," said Lupin again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness. He strode around the table and hugged Harry; the scene in the basement of Grimmault Place might never have happened.

"You'll be godfather?" he said as he released Harry.

"M-me?" stammered Harry.

"You, yes, of course-Dora quite agrees, no one better-"

"I-yeah-blimey-"

Harry felt overwhelmed, astonished, delighted; now Bill was hurrying to fetch wine, and Fleur was persuading Lupin to join them for a drink.

"I can't stay long, I must get back," said Lupin, beaming around at them all: He looked years younger than Harry had ever seen him. "Thank you, than you, Bill."

Bill had soon filled all of their goblets, they stood and raised them high in a toast.

"To Teddy Remus Lupin," said Lupin, "a great wizard in the making!"

" 'Oo does 'e look like?" Fleur inquired.

"I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it's turned ginger in the hour since. Probably be blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks's hair started changing color the day that she was born." He drained his goblet. "Oh, go on then, just one more," he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.

The wind buffered the little cottage and the fire leapt and crackled, and Bill was soon opening another bottle of wine. Lupin's news seemed to have taken them out of themselves, removed them for a while from their state of siege: Tidings of new life was exhilarating. Only the goblin seemed untouched by the suddenly festive atmosphere, and after a while he slunk back to the bedroom he now occupied alone. Harry thought he was the only one who had noticed this, until he saw Bill's eyes following the goblin up the stairs.

"No...no...I really must get back," said Lupin at last, declining yet another goblet of wine. He got to his feet and pulled his traveling cloak back around himself.

"Good-bye, good-bye-I'll try to bring some pictures in a few day's time-they'll be so glad to know that I've seen you-"

He fastened his cloak and made his farewells, hugging the women and grasping hands with the men, then, still beaming, returned into the wild night.

"Godfather, Harry!" said Bill as they walked into the kitchen together, helping clear the table. "A real honor! Congratulations!"

As Harry set down the empty goblets he was carrying, Bill pulled the door behind him closed, shutting out the still-voluble voices of the others, who were continued to celebrate even in Lupin's absence.

"I wanted to private word, actually, Harry. It hasn't been easy to get an opportunity with the cottage this full of people."

Bill hesitated.

"Harry, you're planning something with Griphook."

It was a statement, not a question, and Harry did not bother to deny it. He merely looked at Bill, waiting.

"I know goblins," said Bill. "I've worked for Gringotts ever since I left Hogwarts. As far as there can be friendship between wizards and goblins, I have goblin friends- or, at least, goblins I know well, and like." Again, Bill hesitated.

"Harry, what do you want from Griphook, and what have you promised him in return?"

"I can't tell you that," said Harry. "Sorry, Bill."

The kitchen door opened behind them; Fleur was trying to bring through more empty goblets.

"Wait," Bill told her. "Just a moment."

She backed out and he closed the door again.

"Then I have to say this," Bill went on. "If you have struck any kind of bargain with Griphook, and most particularly if that bargain involves treasure, you must be exceptionally careful. Goblin notions of ownership, payment, and repayment are not the same as human ones."

Harry felt a slight squirm of discomfort, as though a small snake had stirred inside him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We are talking about a different breed of being," said Bill.

"Dealing between wizards and goblins have been fraught for centuries-but you'll know all that from History of Magic. There has been fault on both sides, I would never claim that wizards have been innocent. However, there is a belief among some goblins, and those at Gringotts are perhaps most prone to it, that wizards cannot be trusted in matters of gold and treasure, that they have no respect for goblin ownership."

"I respect-" Harry began, but Bill shook his head.

"You don't understand, Harry, nobody could understand unless they have lived with goblins. To a goblin, the rightful and true master of any object is the maker, not the purchaser. All goblin-made objects are, in goblin eyes, rightfully theirs."

"But if it was bought-"

"-then they would consider it rented by the one who had paid the money. They have, however, great difficulty with the idea of goblin-made objects passing from wizard to wizard. You saw Griphook's face when the tiara passed under his eyes. He disapproves. I believe he thinks, as do the fiercest of his kind, that it ought to have been returned to the goblins once the original purchaser died. They consider our habit of keeping goblin-made objects, passing them from wizard to wizard without further payment, little more than theft.

Harry had an ominous feeling now; he wondered whether Bill guessed more than he was letting one.

"All I am saying," said Bill, setting his hand on the door back into the sitting room, "is to be very careful what you promise goblins, Harry. It would be less dangerous to break into Gringotts than to renege on a promise to the goblin."

"Right," said Harry as Bill opened the door, "yeah. Thanks. I'll bear that in mind."

As the followed Bill back to the others a wry thought came to him, born no doubt of the wine he had drunk. He seemed set on course to become just as reckless a godfather to Teddy Lupin as Sirius Black had been to him.


	11. Chapter 11: Gringotts

Chapter Twenty-Six: Gringotts

Their plans were made, their preparations complete; in the smallest bedroom a single long, coarse black hair (plucked from the sweater Hermione had been wearing at Malfoy Manor) lay curled in a small glass phial on the mantelpiece.

"And you'll be using her actual wand," said Harry, nodding toward the walnut wand, "so I reckon you'll be pretty convincing."

Hermione looked frightened that the want might sting or bite her as she picked it up. During their rescue and break in into Malfoy Manor, Dobby was able to get Bellatrix's wand from her. He wouldn't tell them why he took it, which intrigued Harry but he did not pry upon it.

"I hate this thing," she said in a low voice. "I really hate it. It feel all wrong, it doesn't work properly for me...It's like a bit of _her._"

Harry could not help but remember how Hermione had dismissed his loathing of the blackthorn wand, insisting that he was imagining things when it did not work as well as his own, telling him to simply practice. He chose not to repeat her own advice back to her, however; the eve of their attempted assault on Gringotts felt like the wrong moment to antagonize her.

"It'll probably help you get in character, though," said Ron. "Think what that wand's done!"

"But that's my point!" said Hermione. "This is the wand that tortured Neville's mum and dad, and who know how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius!"

Harry had not thought of that: He looked down at the wand and was visited by a brutal urge to snap it, to slice it in half with Gryffindor's sword, which was propped against the wall beside him.

"I miss _my_ wand," Hermione said miserably. "I wish Mr. Ollivander could have made me another one too."

Mr. Ollivander had sent Luna a new wand that morning. She was out on the back lawn at that moment, testing its capabilities in the lat afternoon sun. Dean, who had lost his wand to the Snatchers, was watching rather gloomily.

Harry looked down at the hawthorn wand that had once belonged to Draco Malfoy. He had been surprised, but pleased, to discover that it worked for him at least as well as Hermione's had done. Remembering what Ollivander had told them of the secret working of wands, Harry thought he knew what Hermione's problem was She had not won the walnut wand's allegiance by taking it personally from Bellatrix.

The door of the bedroom opened and Griphook entered. Harry reached instinctively for the hilt of the sword and drew it close to him, but regretted his action at once: He could tell that the goblin had noticed. Seeking to gloss over the sticky moment, he said, "We've just been checking the last-minuted stuff, Griphook. We've told Bill and Fleur we're leaving tomorrow, and we've told them not to get up to see us off."

They had been firm on this point, because Hermione would need to transform into Bellatrix before they left, and the less that Bill and Fleur knew or suspected about what they were about to do, the better. They had also explained that they would not be returning. As they lost the Perkins's old tent on the night that the Snatchers caught them, Bill had lent them another one. It was now packed inside the beaded bag, which, Harry was impressed to learn, Hermione had protected from the Snatchers by the simple expedient of stuffing it down her sock

Though he would Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean, not to mention the home comforts they had enjoyed over the last few weeks, Harry was looking forward to escape the confinement of Shell Cottage. He was tired of trying to make sure they were not overheard, tired of being shut in the tiny, dark bedroom. Most of all, he longed to be rid of Griphook.

Harry slept badly that night. Lying awake in the early hours, he thought back to the way he had felt the night before they had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and remembered a determination, almost an excitement. Now he was experiencing jolts of anxiety, nagging doubts: He could not shake off the fear that it was all going to go wrong. He kept telling himself that their plan was good, that Griphook knew what they were facing, that they were well-prepared for all the difficulties they were likely to encounter, yet still he felt uneasy. Once or twice he heard Ron stir and was sure that he too was awake, but they were sharing the sitting room with Dean, so Harry did not speak.

It was a relief when six o' clock arrived and they could slip out of their sleeping bags, dressed in the semidarkness, then creep out into the garden, where they were to meet Hermione and Griphook. The dawn was chilly, but there was little wind now that it was May. Harry looked up at the stars still glimmering palely in the dark sky and listened to the sea washing backward and forward against the cliff" He was going to miss the sound.

Small green shoots were forcing their way up through the red earth of Dobby's grave now; in a year's time the mound would be covered in flowers. The white stone that bore the elf's name had already acquired a weathered look. He realized now that they would hardly have laid Dobby to rest in a more beautiful place, but Harry ached with sadness to think of leaving him behind. Looking down on the grave, he wondered yet again how the elf had known where to come to rescue him. His fingers moved absentmindedly to the little pouch still strung around his neck, through which he could feel the jagged mirror fragment in which he had been sure he had seen Dumbledore's eye. Then the sound of a door opening made him look around.

Bellatrix Lestrange was striding across the lawn toward them, accompanied by Griphook. As she walked, she was tucking the small, beaded bag into the inside pocket of another set of the old robes they had taken from Grimmauld Place. Though Harry knew perfectly well that it was really Hermione, he could not suppress a shiver of loathing. She was taller than he was, her long black hair rippling down her back, her heavily lidded eyes disdainful as they rested upon him' but then she spoke, and he heard Hermione through Bellatrix's low voice.

"She tasted _disgusting_, worse than Gurdyroots! Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you..."

"Right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome-"

"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time."

Hermione sighed and set to work, muttering under her breath as she transformed various aspects of Ron's appearance. He was to be given a completely fake identity, and they were trusting to the malevolent aura cast by Bellatrix to protect him. Meanwhile Harry and Griphook were to be concealed under the Invisibility Cloak.

"There," said Hermione, "how does she look, Harry?"

"It was just possible to discern Ron under his disguise, but only, Harry thought, because he knew him so well. Ron's hair was now long and wavy; he had a thick brown beard and mustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose, and heavy eyebrows.

"Well, he's not my type, but he'll do," said Harry. "Shall we go, then?"

All three of them glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point, just beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Charm stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate. Once pas the gate, Griphook spoke.

"I should climb up now, Harry Potter, I think?"

Harry bent down and the goblin clambered into his back, his hands linked in front of Harry's throat. He was not heavy, but Harry disliked the feeling of the goblin and the surprising strength with which he clung on. Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of the beaded bag and threw it over them both.

"Perfect," she said, bending down to check Harry's feet, "I can't see a thing. Let's go."

Harry turned on the spot, with Griphook on his shoulders, concentrating with all his might on the Leaky Cauldron, the inn that was the entrance to Diagon Alley. The goblin clung even tighter as they moved into the compressing darkness, and seconds later Harry's feet found pavement and he opened his eyes on Charing Cross Road. Muggles bustled past wearing the hangdog expressions of early morning, quite unconscious of the little inn's existence.

The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Tom, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the bar counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced at Hermione and drew back into the shadows.

"Madam Lestrange," murmured Tom, and as Hermione passed he inclined his head subserviently.

"Good morning," said Hermione, and as Harry crept past, still carrying Griphook piggyback under the Cloak, he saw Tom look surprised.

"Too polite," Harry whispered in Hermione's ear as they passed out of the inn into the tiny backyard. "You need to treat people like they've scum!"

"Okay, okay!"

Hermione drew out Bellatrix's wand and tapped a brink in the nondescript wall in front of them At once the bricks began to whirl and spin: A hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider, finally forming an archway onto the narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley.

It was a quiet, barely time for the shops to open, and there were hardly any shoppers abroad. The crooked, cobbled street was much altered now from the bustling place Harry had visited before his first term at Hogwarts so many years before. More shops than ever were boarded up, though several new establishments dedicated to the Dark Arts had been created since his last visit. Harry's own face glared down at him from posters plastered over many windows, always captioned with the words Undesirable Number One.

A number of ragged people sat huddled in doorways. He heard them moaning to the few passerby, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards. One man had a bloody bandage over his eye.

As they set off along the street, the beggars glimpsed Hermione. They seemed to melt away before her, drawing hoods over their faces and fleeing as fast as they could. Hermione looked after them curiously, until the man with the bloodied bandage came staggering right across her path.

"My children!" he bellowed, pointing at her. His voice was cracked, high-pitched; he sound distraught. "Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, _you know_!"

"I-I really-" stammered Hermione.

The man lunged at her, reaching for her throat: Then, with a bang and burst of red light he was thrown backward onto the ground, unconscious. Ron stood there, his wand still outstretched and a look of shock visible behind his beard. Faces appeared at the windows on either side of the street, while a little knot of prosperous-looking passerby gathered their robes about them and broke into gentle trots, keen to vacated the scene.

Their entrance into Diagon Alley could hardly have been more conspicuous; for a moment Harry wondered whether it might not be better to leave now and try to think of a different plan. Before they could move or consult one another, however, they heard a cry from behind them.

"Why, Madam Lestrange!"

Harry whirled around and Griphook tightened his hold around Harry's neck: A tall, thin wizard with a crown of bushy gray hair and a long, sharp nose was striding toward them.

"It's Travers," hissed the goblin into Harry's ear, but at that moment Harry could not think who Travers was. Hermione had drawn herself up to her fullest height and said with as much contempt as she could muster:

"And what do you want?"

Travers stopped at his tracks, clearly affronted.

"_He's another Death Eater_!" Breathed Griphook, and Harry sidled sideways to repeat the information into Hermione's ear.

"I merely sought to greet you," said Travers coolly, "but if my presence is not welcome..."

Harry recognized his voice now; Travers was one of the Death Eaters who had been summoned to Xenophilius's house.

"No, no, not at all, Travers," said Hermione quickly, trying to cover up her mistake. "How are you?"

"Well, I confess I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix."

"Really? Why?" asked Hermione.

"Well," Travers coughed, "I _heard _that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the...ah..._escape._"

Harry willed Hermione to keep her head. If this was true, and Bellatrix was not supposed to be out in public-

"The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past," said Hermione in a magnificent imitation of Bellatrix's most contemptuous manner. "Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers."

Though the Death Eater looked offended, he also seemed less suspicious. He glanced down at the man Ron had just stunned.

"How did it offend you?

"It does not manner, it will not do so again," said Hermione really.

"Some of these wandless can be troublesome," said Travers.

"While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case at the Ministry last week. _'I'm a witch, sir, I'm a witch, let me prove it to you!'_" he said in a squeaky impersonation. "As if I was going to give her my wand-but whose wand," said Travers curiously, "are you using at the moment, Bellatrix? I heard that your own was-"

"I have my wand here," said Hermione coldly, holding up Bellatrix's wand. "I don't know what rumors you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem sadly misinformed."

Travers seemed a little taken aback at that, and he turned instead to Ron.

"Who is your friend? I do not recognize him."

"This is Dragomir Despard," said Hermoine; they had decided that a fictional foreigner was the safest cover for Ron to assume. "He speaks very little English, but he in sympathy with the Dark Lord's aims. He had traveled here from Transylvania to see our new regime."

"Indeed? How do you do, Dragomir?"

" 'Ow you?" said Ron, holding out his hand.

Travers extended two fingers and shook Ron's hand as though frightened of dirtying himself.

"So what bring you and your-ah-sympathetic friend to Diagon Alley this early?" asked Travers.

"I need to visit Gringotts," said Hermione.

"Alas, I also," said Travers. "Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends."

Harry felt Griphook's clasped hands tighten momentarily around his neck.

"Shall we?" said Travers, gesturing Hermione forward.

Hermione had no choice but to fall into step beside him and head along the crooked, cobbled street toward the place where the snowy-white Gringotts stood towering over the other little shops. Ron sloped along beside them, and Harry and Griphook followed.

A watchful Death Eater was the very last thing they needed, and the worst of it was, with Travers marching at what he believed to be Bellatrix's side, there was no means for Harry to communicate with Hermione and Ron. All too soon they arrived at the foot of the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors. As Griphook had already warned them, the liveried goblins who usually flanked the entrance had been replaced by two wizards, both of whom were clutching long thin golden rods.

"Ah, Probity Probes," sighed Travers theatrically, "so crude-but effective!"

And he set off up the steps, nodding left and right to the wizards, who raised the golden rods and passed them up and down his body. The Probes, Harry knew, detected spells of concealment and hidden magical objects. Knowing that he had only seconds, Harry pointed Hermione's wand at each of the guards in turn and murmured, "_Confundo_" twice. Unnoticed by Travers, who was looking through the bronze doors at the inner hall, each of the guards gave a little start as the spells hit them.

Hermione's long black hair rippled behind her as she climbed up the stairs.

"One moment, madam," said the guard, raising his Probe.

"But you've just done that!" said Hermione in Bellatrix's commanding, arrogant voice. Travers looked around, eyebrows raised. The guard was confused. He stared down at the thin golden Probe and then at his companion, who said in a slightly dazed voice,

"Yeah, you've just checked them, Marius."

Hermione swept forward, Ron by her side, Harry and Griphook trotting invisibly behind them. Harry glanced back as they crossed the threshold: The wizards were both scratching their heads.

Two goblins stood before the inner doors, which were made of silver and which carried the poem warning of dire retribution to potential thieves. Harry looked up at it, and all of a sudden a knife-sharp memory came to him: standing on this very spot on the day that he had turned eleven, the most wonderful birthday of his life, and Hagrid standing beside him saying, "_Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it." _Gringotts had seemed a place of wonder that day, the enchanted repository of a trove of gold he had never known he possessed, and never for an instant could he have dreamed that the would turn to steal...But within seconds they were standing in the vast marble hall of the bank.

The long encounter was manned by goblins sitting on high stools, serving the first customers of the day. Hermione, Ron, and Travers headed toward an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass. Hermione allowed Travers to step ahead of her on the pretext of gaining features of the hall to Ron.

The goblin tossed the coin he was holding aside, said to nobody in particular, "Leprechaun," and then greeted Travers, who passed over a tiny golden key, which was examined and given back to him.

Hermione stepped forward.

"Madam Lestrange!" said the goblin, evidently startled. "Dear me! How-how may I help you today?"

"I wish to enter my vault," said Hermione.

The old goblin seemed to recoil a little. Harry glanced around. Not only was Travers hanging back, watching, but several other goblins had looked up from their work to stare at Hermione.

"You have...identifications?" asked the goblin.

"Identification? I-I have never been asked for identification before!" said Hermione.

"_They know!"_ whispered Griphook in Harry's ear. "_They must have been warned there might be an imposter!"_

"Your wand will do, madam," said the goblin. He held out a slightly trembling hand, and in a dreadful blast of realization Harry knew that the goblins of Gringotts were aware that Bellatrix's wand had been stolen.

"_Act now, act now," _whispered Griphook in Harry's ear, "_the Imperius Curse!"_

Harry raised the hawthorn wand beneath the cloak, pointed it at the old goblin, and whispered, for the first time in his life, "_Imperio!"_

A curious sensation shot down Harry's arm, a feeling of tingling warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse it had just cast. The goblin took Bellatrix's wand, examining it closely, and then said, "Ah, you have had a new wand made, Madam Lestrange!"

"What?" said Hermione. "No, no, that's mine-"

"A new wand?" said Travers, approaching the counter again; still the goblins all around were watching. "But how could you have done, which wandmaker did you use?"

Harry acted without thinking: Pointing his wand at Travers, he muttered, "_Imperio!"_ once more.

"Oh yes, I see," said Travers, looking down at Bellatrix's wand, "yes, very handsome. And is it working well? I always think wands require a little breaking in, don't you?"

Hermione looked utterly bewildered, but to Harry's enormous relief she accepted the bizarre turn of events without comment.

The old goblin behind the counter clapped his hands and a younger goblin approached.

"I shall need the Clankers," he told the goblin, who dashed away and returned a moment later with a leather bag that seemed to be full of jangling metal, which he handed to his senior. "Good, good! So, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange," said the old goblin, hopping down off his stool and vanishing from sight, "I shall take you to your vault."

He appeared around the end of the counter, jogging happily toward them, the contents of the leather bag still jingling. Travers was now standing quite still with his mouth hanging wide open. Ron was drawing attention to this odd phenomenon by regarding Travers with confusion.

"Wait-Bogrod!"

Another goblin came scurrying around the counter.

"We have instructions," he said with a bow to Hermione. "Forgive me, Madam, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange."

He whispered urgently in Bogrod's ear, but the Imperiused goblin shook him off.

"I am aware of the instructions. Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault...Very old family...old clients...This way, please..."

And, still clanking, he hurried toward one of the many doors leading off the hall. Harry looked back at Travers, who was still rooted to the spot looking abnormally vacant, and made his decision: With a flick of his wand he made Travers come with them, walking meekly in their wake as they reached the door and passed into the rough stone passageway beyond, which was lit with flaming torches.

"We're in trouble; they suspect," said Harry as the door slammed behind them and he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Griphook jumped down from his shoulders; neither Travers nor Bogrod showed the slightest surprise at the sudden appearance of Harry Potter in their midst. "They're Imperiused," he added, in response to Hermione and Ron's confused queries about Travers and Bogrod, who were both now standing there looking blank. "I don't think I did it strongly enough, I don't know..."

And another memory darted through his mind, of the real Bellatrix Lestrange shrieking at him when he had first tried to use an Unforgivable Curse: "You need to _mean_ them, Potter!"

"What do we do?" asked Ron. "Shall we get out now, while we can?"

"If you can," said Hermione, looking back toward the door into the main hall, beyond which who knew what was happening.

"We've got this far, I say we go on," said Harry.

"Good!" said Griphook. "So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no longer have the authority. But there will not be room for the wizard."

Harry pointed his wand at Travers.

"_Imperio!_"

The wizard turned and set off along the dark track at a smart pace.

"What are you making him do?"

"Hide," said Harry as he pointed his wand at Bogrod, who whistled to summon a little cart that came trundling along the tracks toward them out of the darkness. Harry was sure he could hear shouting behind them in the main hall as they all clambered into it, Bogrod in from with Griphook, Harry, Ron, and Hermione crammed together in the back.

With a jerk the cart moved off, gathering speed: They hurtled past Travers, who was wriggling into a crack in the wall, then the cart began twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downward all the time. Harry could not hear anything over the rattling of the car on the tracks" His hair flew behind him as they swerved between stalactites, flying over deeper into the earth, but he kept glancing back. They might as well have left enormous footprints behind them; the more he thought about it, the more foolish it seemed to have disguised Hermione as Bellatrix, to have brought along Bellatrix's wand, when the Death Eaters knew who had stolen it-

They were deeper than Harry had ever penetrated within Gringotts; they took a hairpin bend at speed and saw ahead of them, with seconds to spare, a waterfall pounding over the track. Harry head Griphook shout, "No!" but there was no braking: They zoomed through it. Water filled Harry's eyes and mouth: He could not see or breathe: Then, with an awful lurch, the cart flipped over and they were all thrown out of it. Harry head the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall, heard Hermione shriek something, and felt himself glide back toward the ground as thought weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor.

"C-Cushioning Charm," Hermione spluttered, as Ron pulled her to her feel, but to Harry's horror he saw that she was no longer Bellatrix; instead she stood there in overlarge robes, sopping wet and completely herself; Ron was red-haired and beardless again. They were realizing it as they looked at each other, feeling their own faces.

"The Thief's Downfall!" said Griphook, clambering to his feet and looking back at the deluge onto the tracks, which, Harry knew now, had been more than water. "It washes away all enchantment, all magical enchantment! They know there are imposters in Gringotts, they have set off defenses against us!"

Harry saw Hermione checking that she still had her beaded bag, and hurriedly thrust his own hand under his jacket to make sure he had not lost the Invisibility Cloak. Then he turned to see Bogrod shaking his head in bewilderment: The Thief's Downfall seemed to have lifted the Imperius Curse.

"We need him," said Griphook, "we cannot enter the vault without a Gringotts goblin. And we need the Clankers!"

"_Imperio!_" Harry said again; his voice echoed through the stone passage as he felt again the sense of heady control that flowed from brain to wand. Bogrod submitted once more to his will, his befuddled expression changing to one of polite indifference, as Ron hurried to pick up the leather bag of metal tools.

"Harry, I think I can hear people coming!" said Hermione, and she pointed Bellatrix's wand at the waterfall and cried, "_Protego!" _They saw the Shield Charm break the flow of enchanted water as it flew up the passageway.

"Good thinking," said Harry. "Lead the way, Griphook!"

"How are we going to get out again?" Ron asked as they hurried on foot into the darkness after the goblin, Bogrod panting in their wake like an old dog.

"Let's worry about what that when we have to," said Harry. He was trying to listen: He thought he could hear something clanking and moving around nearby. "Griphook, how much farther?"

"Not far, Harry Potter, not far..."

And they turned a corner and saw the thing for which Harry had been prepared, but which still brought all of them to a halt.

A gigantic dragon was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. The beast's scales had turned pale and flaky during its long incarceration under the ground; its eyes were milky pink; both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great spiked wings, folded close to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them, and when it turned its ugly head toward them, it roared with a noise that made the rock tremble, opened its mouth, and spat a jet of fire that sent them running back up the passageway.

"It is partially blind," panted Griphook," but even more savage for that. However, we have the means to control it. It has learned what to expect when the Clankers come. Give them to me."

Ron passed the bag to Griphook, and the goblin turned pulled out a number of small metal instruments that when shaken made a loud, ringing noise like miniature hammers an anvils. Griphook handed them out: Bogrod accepted his meekly.

"You know what to do," Griphook told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "It will pain when it hears the noise: It will retreat, and Bogrod must place his palm upon the door of the vault."

They advanced around the corner again, shaking the Clankers, and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, grossly magnified, so that the inside of Harry's skull seemed to vibrate with the din. The dragon let out another hoarse roar, then retreated. Harry could see it trembling, and as they drew nearer he saw the scars made by vicious slashes across its face, and guessed that it had been taught to fear hot swords when it heard the sound of Clankers.

"Make him press his hand to the door!" Griphook urged Harry, who turned his wand again upon Bogrod. The old goblin obeyed, pressing his palm to the wood, and the door of the vault melted away to reveal a cave like opening crammed from floor to ceiling with gold coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of strange creatures-some with long spines, others with drooping wings-potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown.

"Search, fast!" said Harry as they all hurried inside the vault.

He had described Hufflepuff's cup to Hermione and Ron, but if it was the other, unknown Horcrux that resided in this vault, he did not know what it looked like. He barely had time to glance around, however, before there was a muffled clunk from behind them: The door had reappeared, sealing them inside the vault, and they were plunged into total darkness.

"No matter, Bogrod will be able to release us!" said Griphook as Ron gave a shout of surprise. "Light your wands, can't you? And hurry, we have very little time!"

"_Lumos!"_

Harry shone his lit wand around the vault: Its beam fell upon glittering jewels; he saw the fake sword of Gryffindor lying on a high shelf amongst a jumble of chains. Ron and Hermione had lit their wands too, and were now examining the piles of objects surrounding them.

"Harry, could this be-? Aargh!"

Hermione screamed in pain, and Harry turned his wand on her in time to see a jeweled goblet tumbling from her grip. But as it fell, it split, became a shower of goblets, so that a second later, with a great clatter, the floor was covered in identical cups rolling in every direction, the original impossible to discern amongst them.

"It burned me!" moaned Hermione, sucking her blistered fingers.

"They have added Gemino and Flagrante Curses!" said Griphook. "Everything you touch will burn and multiply, but the copies are worthless-and if you continue to handle the treasure, you will eventually be crushed to death by the weight of expanding gold!"

"Okay, don't touch anything!" said Harry desperately, but even as he said it, Ron accidentally nudged one of the fallen goblets with his foot, and twenty more exploded into being while Ron hopped on the spot, part of his shoe burned away by contact with the hot metal.

"Stand still, don't move!" said Hermione, clutching at Ron.

"Just look around!" said Harry. "Remember, the cup's small and gold, it's got a badger engraved on it, two handles-otherwise see if you can spot Ravenclaw's symbol anywhere, the eagle-"

They directed their wands into every nook and crevice, turning cautiously on the spot. It was impossible not to brush up against anything; Harry sent a great cascade of fake Galleons onto the ground where they joined the goblets, and now there was scarcely room to place their feet, and the glowing gold blazed with heat, so that the vault felt like a furnace. Harry's wandlight passed over shields and goblin-made helmets set on shelves rising to the ceiling; higher and higher he raised the beam, until suddenly it found an object that made his heart skip and his hand tremble.

"_It's there, it's up there!"_

Ron and Hermione pointed their wands at it too, so that the little golden cup sparkled in a three-way spotlight: the cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which had passed into the possession of Hepzibah Smith, from whom it had been stolen by Tom Riddle.

"And how the hell are we going to get up there without touching anything?" asked Ron.

"_Accio Cup!_" cried Hermione, who had evidently forgotten in her desperation that Griphook had told them during their planning sessions.

"No use, no use!" snarled the goblin.

"Then what do we do?" said Harry, glaring at the goblin. "If you want the sword, Griphook, then you'll have to help us more than-wait! Can I touch stuff with the sword? Hermione, give it here!"

Hermione fumbled inside her robes, drew out the beaded bag, rummaged for a few seconds, then removed the shining sword. Harry seized it by its rubied hilt and touched the tip of the blade to a silver flagon nearby, which did not multiply.

"If I can just poke the sword through the handle-but how am I going to get up there?"

The shelf on which the cup reposed was out of reach for any of them, even Ron, who was tallest. The heat from the enchanted treasure rose in waves, and sweat ran down Harry's face and back as he struggled to think of a way up to the cup; and then he heard the dragon roar on the other side of the vault door, and the sound of clanking growing louder and louder.

They were truly trapped now: There was no way out except through the door, and a horde of goblins seemed to be approaching on the other side. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione and saw terror in their faces.

"Hermione," said Harry as the clanking grew louder, "I've got to get up there, we've got to get rid of it-"

She raised her wand, pointed it at Harry, and whispered, "_Levicorpus."_

Hoisted into the air by his ankle, Harry hit a suit of armor and replicas burst out of it like white-hot bodies, filling the cramped space. With screams of pain Ron, Hermione, and the two goblins were knocked aside into other objects, which also began to replicate. Half buried in a rising tide of red-hot treasure, they struggled and yelled as Harry thrust the sword through the handle of Hufflepuff's cup, hooking it onto the blade.

"_Impervius!"_ screeched Hermione in an attempt to protect herself, Ron, and the goblins from the burning metal.

Then the worst scream yet made Harry look down: Ron and Hermione were waist-deep in treasure, struggling to keep Bogrod from slipping beneath the rising tide, but Griphook had sunk out of sight and nothing but the tips of a few long fingers were left in view.

Harry seized Griphook's fingers and pulled. The blistered goblin emerged by degrees, howling.

"_Liberacorpus!_" yelled Harry, and with a crash her and Griphook landed on the surface of the swelling treasure, and the sword flew out of Harry's hand.

"Get it!" Harry yelled, fighting the pain of the hot metal on his skin, as Griphook clambered onto his shoulders again, determined to avoid the swelling mass of red-hot objects. "Where's the sword? It had the cup on it!"

The clanking on the other side of the door was growing deafening-it was too late-

"There!"

It was Griphook who had seen it and Griphook who lunged, and in that instant Harry knew that the goblin had never expected them to keep their word, even though they were honest with him. One hand holding tightly to a fistful of Harry's hair, to make sure he did not fall into the heaving sea of burning gold, Griphook seized the hilt of the sword and swung it high out of Harry's reach.

The tiny golden cup, skewered by the handle on the sword's blade, was flung into the air. The goblin still astride him, Harry dived and caught it, and although he could feel it scaling his flesh he did not relinquish it, even while countless Hufflepuff cups burst from his fist, raining down upon him as the entrance of the vault opened up again and he found himself sliding uncontrollably on an expanding avalanche of fiery gold and silver that bore him, Ron, and Hermione into the outer chamber.

Hardly aware of the pain from burns covering his body, and still borne along the swell of replicating treasure, Harry shoved the cup into his pocket and reached up to retrieve the sword, but Griphook was gone. Sliding from Harry's shoulders the moment he could, he had sprinted for cover amongst the surrounding goblins, brandishing the sword and crying, "Thieves! Thieves! Help! Thieves!" He vanished into the midst of the advancing crowd, all of whom were holding daggers and who accepted him without question.

Slipping on the hot metal, Harry struggled to his feet and knew that the only way out as through.

"_Stupefy!_" he bellowed, and Hermione and Ron joined in: Jets of red light flew into the crowd of goblins, and some toppled over, but others advanced, and Harry saw several wizard guards running around the corner.

The tethered dragon let out a roar, and a gush of flame flew over the goblins: The wizards fled, doubled-up, back the way they had come, and inspiration, or madness, came to Harry. Pointing his wand at the thick cuffs chaining the beast to the floor, he yelled, "_Relashio!_"

The cuffs broke again open with loud bangs.

"This way!" Harry yelled, and still shooting Stunning Spells at the advancing goblins, he sprinted toward the blind dragon.

"Harry-Harry-what are you doing?" cried Hermione.

"Get up, climb up, come one-"

The dragon had not realized that it was free: Harry's foot found the crook of its hind leg and pulled himself up onto it back. The scales were hard as steel; it did not even seem to feel him. He stretched out an arm; Hermione hoisted herself up; Ron climbed on behind them, and a second later the dragon became aware that it was untethered.

With a roar it reared: Harry dug in his knees, clutching as tightly as he could to the jagged scales as the wings opened, knocking the shrieking goblins aside like skittles, and it soared into the air. Harry, Hermione, and Ron, flat on its back, scraped against the ceiling as it dived toward the passage opening, while the pursuing goblins hurled daggers that glanced off its flanks.

"We'll never get out, it's too big!" Hermione screamed, but the dragon opened its mouth and belched flame again, blasting the tunnel, whose floors and ceiling cracked and crumbled. By sheer force the dragon clawed and fought its way through. Harry's eyes were shut tight against the heat and dust: Deafened by the crashing of rock and dragon's roars, he could only cling to its back while holding to Hermione's dress from behind, expecting to be shaken off at any moment; then he heard Hermione yelling, "_Defodio!_"

She was helping the dragon enlarge the passageway, carving out the ceiling as it struggled upward toward the fresher air, away from the shrieking and clanking goblins: Harry and Ron copied her, blasting the ceiling apart with more gouging spells. They passed the underground lake, and the great crawling, snarling beast seemed to sense freedom and space ahead of it, and behind them the passage was full of the dragon's thrashing, spiked tail, of great lumps of rock, gigantic fractured stalactites, and the clanking of the goblins seemed to be growing more muffled, while ahead, the dragon's fire kept their progress clear-

And then at last, by the combined force of their spells and the dragon's brute strength, they had blasted their way out of the passage into the marble hallway. Goblins and wizards shrieked and ran for cover, and finally the dragon had room to stretch its wings: Turning its horned head toward the cool outside air it could smell beyond the entrance, it took off, and with Harry, Hermione, and Ron still clinging to it back, it forced it way through the metal doors, leaving him buckled and hanging from their hinges, as it staggered into Diagon Alley and launched itself into the sky.


	12. Chapter 12: The Final Hiding Place

Chapter twenty-seven: The Final Hiding Place

There was no means of steering; the dragon could not see where it was going, and Harry knew that if it turned sharply or rolled in midair they could find it impossible to cling onto its broad back. Nevertheless, as they climbed higher and higher, London unfurling below them like a gray-and-green map, Harry's overwhelming feeling was of gratitude for an escape that had seemed impossible. Crouching low over the beast's neck, he clung tight to the metallic scales, and the cool breeze was soothing on his burned and blistered skin, the dragon's wings beating the air like the sails of a windmill. Behind him, whether from delight or fear he could not tell, Ron kept swearing at the top of his voice, and Hermione seemed to be sobbing.

After five minutes or so, Harry lost some of his immediate dread that the dragon was going to throw them off, for it seemed intent on nothing but getting as far away from its underground prison as possible; but the question of how and when they were to dismount remained rather frightening. He had no idea how long dragons could fly without landing, nor how this particular dragon, which could barely see, would locate a good place to put down. He glanced around constantly, imagining that he cold feel his scar prickling...

How long would it be before Voldemort knew that they had broken into the Lestrange's vault? How soon would the goblins of Gringotts notify Bellatrix? How quickly would they realize what had been taken? And then, when they discovered that the golden cup was missing? Voldemort would know, at last, that they were hunting Horcruxes.

The dragon seemed to crave cooler and fresher air: It climbed steadily until they were flying through wisps of chilly cloud, and Harry could no longer make out the little colored dots which were countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.

"What do you reckon it's looking for?" Ron yelled as they flew farther and farther north.

"No idea," Harry bellowed back. His hands were numb with cold buy he did not dare attempt to shift his grip. He had been wondering for some time what they would do if they saw the coast sail beneath them, if the dragon headed for open sea; he was cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty. When, he wondered, had the beast itself least eaten? Surely it would need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, it realized it had three highly edible humans sitting on its back?

The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo; and still the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath them, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a great dark cloud. Every part of Harry ached with the effort of holding on the dragon's back.

"Is it my imagination," shouted Ron after a considerable stretch of silence, "or are we losing height?"

Harry looked down and saw deep green mountains and lakes, coppery in the sunset. The landscape seemed to grow larger and more detailed as he squinted over the side of the dragon, and he wondered whether it had divined the presence of fresh water by the flashed of reflected sunlight.

Lower and lower the dragon flew, in great spiraling circles, honing in, it seemed, upon one of the smaller lakes.

"I say we jump when it gets low enough!" Harry called back to the others. "Straight into the water before it realizes we're here!"

They agreed, Hermione a little faintly, and now Harry could see the dragon's wide yellow underbelly rippling in the surface of the water.

"NOW!"

He slithered over the side of the dragon and plummeted feet first toward the surface of the lake; the drop was greater than he had estimated and he hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing, green, reed-filled world. He kicked toward the surface and emerged, panting, to see enormous ripples emanating in circles from the places where Ron and Hermione had fallen. The dragon did not seem to have noticed anything: It was already fifty feet away, swooping low over the lake to scoop up water in its scarred snout. As Ron and Hermione emerged, spluttering and gasping, from the depths of the lake, the dragon flew on, its wings beating hard, and laded at last on a distant bank.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron struck out for the opposite shore. The lake did not seem to be deep: Soon it was more a question of fighting their way through reeds and mud than swimming, and at last they flopped, sodden, panting, and exhausted, onto slippery grass.

Hermione collapsed, coughing and shuddering. Though Harry could have happily laid down and slept, he staggered to his feet, drew out his wand and started casting the usual protective spells around them.

When he had finished, he joined the others. It was the first time that he had seen them properly since escaping from the vault. Both had angry red burns all over their faces and arms, and their clothing was singed away in places. They were wincing as they dabbed essence of dittany onto their many injuries. Hermione handed Harry the bottle, then pulled out three bottles of pumpkin juice she had brought from Shell Cottage and clean, dry robes for all of them. They changed and then gulped down the juice.

"Well, on the upside," said Ron finally, who was sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow, "we got the Horcrux. On the downside-"

"-no sword," said Harry through gritted teeth, as he dripped dittany through the singed hold in his jeans onto the angry burn beneath.

"No sword," repeated Ron. "That double-crossing little scab..."

Harry pulled the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had just taken off and set it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice.

"At least we can't wear it this time, that'd look a bit weird hanging round our necks," said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Hermione looked across the lake to the far bank, where the dragon was still drinking.

"What'll happen to it, do you think?" she asked. "Will it be all right?"

"You sound like Hagrid," said Ron. "It's a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself. It's us we need to worry about."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know how to break this to you," said Ron, "but I think they _might_ have noticed we broke into Gringotts."

All three of them started to laugh, and once started, it was difficult to stop. Harry's ribs ached, he felt lightheaded with hunger, but he lay back on the grass beneath the reddening sky and laughed until his throat was raw.

"What are we going to do, though?" said Hermione finally, hiccuping herself back to seriousness. "He'll know, won't he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!"

"Maybe they'll be too scared to tell him?" said Ron hopefully. "Maybe they'll cover up-"

The sky, the smell of lake water, the sound of Ron's voice were extinguished: Pain cleaved Harry's head like a sword stroke. He was standing in a dimly lit room, and a semicircle of wizards faced him, and on the floor at his feel knelt a small, quaking figure.

"What did you say to me?" His voice was high and cold, but fury and fear burned inside him. The one thing he had dreaded-but it could not be true, he could not see how...

The goblin was trembling, unable to meet the red eyes high above his.

"Say it again!" murmured Voldemort. "_Say it again!"_

"M-my Lord," stammered goblin, its black eyes wide with terror, "m-my Lord...we t-tried t-to st-stop them...Im-imposters, my Lord...broke-broke into the-into the Lestranges' vault..."

"Imposters? What imposters? I thought Gringotts had ways of revealing imposters? Who were they?"

"It was...it was...the P-Potter b-boy and t-two accomplices..."

"_And they took?_" he said, his voice rising, a terrible fear gripping him. "Tell me! _What did they take?"_

"A...a s-small golden c-cup, m-my Lord..."

The stream of rage, of denial left him as if it were a stranger's: He was crazed, frenzied, it could not be true, it was impossible, not Gringotts.

The Elder Wand slashed through the air and green light erupted through the room; the kneeling goblin rolled over, dead; the watching wizards scattered before him, terrified: Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy threw others behind them in their race for the door, and again and again his wand fell, and those who were left were slain, all of them, for bringing him this news, for hearing about the golden cup-

Alone amongst the dead he stormed up and down, and they passed before him in vision: his treasures, his safeguards, his anchors to immortality-the diary was destroyed and the cup was stolen: even with his precautions they still stole them.

But surely if the boy had destroyed any of his Horcruxes, he, Lord Voldemort, would have known, would have felt it? He, the greatest wizard of them all; he, the most powerful; he, the killer of Dumbledore and of how many other worthless, nameless men: How could Lord Voldemort not have known, if he, himself, most important and precious, had been attacked, mutilated?

True, he had not felt it when the diary had been destroyed, but he had thought that was because he had no body to feel, being less than ghost...No, surely, the rest were safe...The other Horcruxes must be intact...

But he must know, he must be sure...He paced the room, kicking aside the goblin's corpse as he passed, and the pictures blurred and burned in his boiling brain: the lake, the shack, and Hogwarts-

A modicum of calm cooled his rage now: How could the boy know that he had hidden the ring in the Gaunt shack? No one had ever known him to be related to the Gaunts, he had hidden the connection, the killing had never been traced to him: The ring, surely, was safe.

And how could the boy, or anybody else, know about the cave or penetrate its protection? The idea of the locket being stolen was absurd...

As for the school: He alone knew where in Hogwarts he had stowed the Horcrux, because he alone had plumbed the secrets of that place...

And there was still Nagini, who must remain close now, no longer sent to do his bidding, under his protection...

But to be sure, to be utterly sure, he must return to each of his hiding places, he must redouble protection around each of his Horcruxes...A job, like the quest for the Elder Wand, that he must undertake alone...

Which should he visit first, which was in most danger? And old unease flickered inside him. Dumbledore had known his middle name...Dumbledore might have made the connection with the Gaunts...Their abandoned home was, perhaps, the least secure of his hiding places, it was there the he would go first...

The lake, surely impossible...though was there a slight possibility that Dumbledore might have known some of his past misdeeds, through the orphanage.

And Hogwarts...but he knew that his Horcrux there was safe; it would be impossible for Potter to enter Hogsmeade without detection, let alone the school. Nevertheless, it would be prudent to alert Snape to the fact that the boy might try to reenter the castle...To tell Snape why the boy might return would be foolish, of course; it had been a grave mistake to trust Bellatrix and Malfoy: Didn't their stupidity and carelessness prove how unwise it was ever to trust?

He would visit the Gaunt shack first, then, and take Nagini with him: He would not be parted from the snake anymore...and he strode from the room, through the hall, and to into the dark garden where the fountain played; he called the snake in Parseltongue and it slithered out to join him like a long shadow...

Harry's eyes flew open as he wrenched himself back to the present: He was lying on the bank of the lake in the setting sun, and Ron and Hermione were looking down at him. Judging by their worried looks, and by the continued pounding of his scar, his sudden excursion into Voldemort's mind had not passed unnoticed. He struggled up, shivering, vaguely surprised that he was still wet to his skin, and saw the cup lying innocently in the grass before him, and the lake, deep blue shot with gold and the failing sun.

"He knows." His own voice sounded strange and low after Voldemort's high screams. "He knows, and he's going to check where the others are, and the last one," he was already on his feet, "is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I _knew_ it."

"What?"

Ron was gaping at him; Hermione sat up, looking worried.

"But what did you see? How do you know!"

"I saw him find out about the cup, I-I was in his head, he's"-Harry remembered the killings-"he's seriously angry, and scared too, he can't understand how we knew, and now he's going to check that the others are safe, the ring first. He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape's there, because it'll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he'll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours-"

"Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?" asked Ron, now scrambling to his feet to.

"No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn't think about exactly where it is-"

"Wait, _wait!_" cried Hermione as Ron caught up with Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. "We can't just _go_, we haven't got a plan, we need to-"

"We need to get going," said Harry firmly. He had been hoping to sleep next to Hermione by his side, looking forward to getting into the new tent, but that was impossible now. "Can you imagine what he's going to do once he realizes the ring and locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn't safe enough?"

"But how are we going to get in?"

"We'll go to Hogsmeade," said Harry, "and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school's like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time."

"But we don't really fit-"

"It'll be dark, no one's going to notice our feet."

The flapping of enormous wings echoed across the black water: The dragon had drunk its fill and risen into the air. They paused in their preparations to watch it climb higher and higher, now black against the rapidly darkening sky, until it vanished over a nearby mountain. Then Hermione walked forward and took her place between the other two. Harry pulled the Cloak down as far as it would go, and together they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.


End file.
